The Choices of Earth
by Haleine Delail
Summary: What would have happened on that fatal day, if Captain Jack Harkness had had one simple thought:  It won't kill Martha Jones to put her knickers back on long enough to make a phone call.  This is about making good choices, and being selfless.
1. DAY ONE:  Part I

**Another challenging endeavour! I SWEAR I have not abandoned my "Detour" story, I simply got itchy fingers to start this. It was burning a hole in my head, and once I got it out on paper, it started burning a hole in my computer files. I could not contain it - it became bigger than me. Again, please forgive my schizophrenia.**

**This story really started incubating over a year ago, in July of 2009. I think there is a problem inherhent in a spin-off show with a strong lead character who was once second fiddle to an even stronger lead character on the parent show. I often found this problem with "Angel," when the world came into peril, and even more often, I find the problem arising on "Torchwood." When the conflict gets really, really bad and it looks like the world will end, the spin-off characters always act like they're out of options. But they haven't called in the big guns yet! **

**Externally, the reasoning for "Angel" and "Buffy" was that they wound up on different networks, and once you put the Doctor on "Torchwood," it becomes "Doctor Who," and stops being "Torchwood." Not to mention, little kids tuning in to "Torchwood" to see their Doctor? Not the greatest of ideas, PR-wise. ****Internally, sometimes it is explained, and sometimes not. I know that the writers had Gwen theorize it away in the final episode of _Children of Earth_, but the explanation sucked rocks, and actually offended some of us. Like we're supposed to buy that the Doctor wouldn't help save the Earth just because we humans are acting like idiots? In the Doctor's world, we act like idiots most of the time, and he likes us anyway! So pick up the damn phone!**

**So I'd like now to explore what would have happened if Jack and Gwen had got their heads out of their you-know-whats, and realized that honeymoon or no honeymoon, UNIT's Chief Medical Officer would have parted the Red Sea if it meant saving the world. Hell, she'd crossed it on foot to save it, why wouldn't she make a inter-coital phone call? (Not that we'll have to worry about any of that.)**

* * *

Mondays are always rubbish, no matter what the week-end had held. Even if she'd spent the last two days floating on a cloud above a world at peace, it would still have been a bloody drag to get up this morning.

Mind you, today wasn't as bad as Saturday had been. Saturday had been brutal. She'd spent most of that day locked in her room at her mum and dad's flat (where she currently lived) with people outside the door begging her to emerge. Both of her parents had tried, her sister, brother, sister-in-law, a few of her friends. Even the dog had come scratching.

But she had refused to come out. She didn't want them to see her crying.

Everyone had expected her to cry, sure, over what the day could have been. The funny thing was, she wasn't crying over the loss, but just from a general claustrophobia, a feeling that the world was closing in. She'd been relatively all right when she awoke, had planned to get away, go find a café and sit, have the day to herself to reflect. But they hadn't let her. As soon as her mum had heard footsteps coming from her bedroom, she was knocking, saying things like, "Honey? Why don't you come down and have a nice breakfast with the family?" Her condescending tone had been just plain annoying, so she shooed her mum away.

Although her mum wouldn't go away. Eventually, an expletive exploded from inside the room, followed by a muffled sob, and her mum took it as a sign of sadness and grief over the day's inherent dark symbolism. Really it was frustration. She'd meant it when she'd said _leave me the hell alone, goddamn it! _But then her dad's voice came through the door, then another voice, until a parade of clumsy loved-ones had succeeded in making her feel well and truly pitiful. It's like when a friend dies, and you're fine, until someone says, "How're you holding up?" and then you burst into tears and can't stop.

She hadn't _planned_ to spend the day sitting on her bed, crying over a piece of card that said, in purple script, _The Honour of Your Presence is Requested…_ but she had. They'd forced her. She hadn't _wanted _to try on the dress and the shoes and the veil… but she had. They were staring at her, seemed to say to her her, _you said you'd wear us – why aren't you wearing us?_ She hadn't _meant_ to wonder what everyone else was doing, those nice folks who had cleared their schedules for her day, and had had their plans abruptly cancelled… but as noon came, she did wonder.

Thank goodness they had decided to make it a small affair; it had meant a smaller disaster later, when it all came crashing down three weeks ago, another Monday, bloody Monday. Though it had been too late to return the dress, or get refunded on the cake, catering, site fees, flowers or anything else, her parents hadn't minded. They just wanted her to heal, and wanted to help and hover and fuss over her. And so, cloistered within the loving home of her family, she'd made herself utterly miserable.

Now it was Monday, 8:31 a.m., and she had nothing to do for the next two weeks. She sat on a park bench in the garden of a bed and breakfast near central London, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a pair of British Airways boarding passes in the other. The plane would leave for Bermuda in twenty minutes. She wondered whether it was on-schedule, and who, if anyone, would be sitting in the seats they'd left unoccupied. She ran her fingers over the names in boxy lettering, chuckling about how she'd fretted over how her name should appear on the pass. Technically, until she filled out the paperwork, her name wouldn't yet have changed, and her passport was still in her maiden name anyway, so she might as well keep the Jones. Little had she known until three weeks ago that she'd be keeping the Jones forever, or at least until further notice.

She sighed. Briefly yesterday, she'd thought of getting on the plane anyway. The whole trip was paid for, and she desperately needed a getaway. She thought of inviting a friend, but her friends would just want to spend the time drinking, pulling in blokes and trashing Tom. She didn't want that – it wasn't going to help. What she needed was either two weeks on a Zen retreat, or a good, solid crisis to take her mind off it. And frankly, the only people who she'd want to travel with now, or could give her a good crisis, were not the types who were, generally speaking, available on a moment's notice.

She sighed again. A tall man came into her mind; two tall men, actually. One in a suit, trainers and brown coat, the other in braces, combat boots and a blue coat. One mind-bogglingly clever, the other just highly adaptable. Both ridiculously magnetic, both cheeky, both dangerous. Both warriors, homeless, tortured, semi-immortal and impossibly old. As a result, they were kindred, connected in a way that made them, perhaps, the only people in the universe who could understand either one of them. This was a bond that the young, jealous medical student had found annoying. The wordly and experienced Dr. Jones now hoped they'd both find solace in it.

And, once her all-consuming, gut-wrenching love for one of them had ebbed away along with her vague fear of the other, she'd begun to think of the two of them as symbols of the same thing. Adventure, security, bravery… her old life. Something she'd been longing to re-capture.

She wondered about their lives today, and hypothetically, where she would fit in. When she was in New York, she'd received an e-mail from Gwen Cooper delivering the sad news of Toshiko Sato's death and Owen Harper's final, gruesome fate. Though, surprisingly, when she saw them again, neither Jack nor Gwen nor Ianto seemed much the worse for wear. And after the dust from the Dalek attack had settled, it had looked for a while like Torchwood had found a new medical officer in her, and a new technology officer in Mickey Smith, but both had declined and gone their separate ways. She supposed that now, they'd found their medic and their techie – no more space for her.

She chuckled to herself about where she'd fit into the Doctor's life now. When she'd walked away from the TARDIS the last time, the Doctor, his twin, Donna Noble and Rose Tyler had been inside. She knew without asking that the Doctor would come up with a way to "dispose of" his Döppelganger, as she couldn't see either one of them staying sane with the other on-board. Then, shortly thereafter, she'd heard through the medical taskforce in UNIT that Donna Noble was home in Chiswick and unwell, and that she was to be put under psychiatric surveillance (Nut-Watch, as they called it, usually reserved for the poor farmers in Salisbury, half mad from dealing with crop circles) as per the Doctor's orders.

So then there were two in the TARDIS. Even though she no longer hoped that she and the Doctor would someday be sending their kids off to university together, she was pretty sure she'd rather spend her life mucking out horse stalls with a plastic spoon than travel with _those two_.

Still, she thought of him and Jack wistfully. She remembered telling Donna that the Doctor was like fire – stand too close and you get burned. But she also supposed he was like a drug. Once you get a shot in the arm of the adrenaline and excitement of his life, you want it always. She had never really stopped to think about it, but she supposed that before today, she'd had it in the back of her mind that she could always call him back and ask him to take her away again, whenever she liked. After all, she'd been the one to walk away, and after the Sontaran thing, he and Donna had asked her to stay. But now, it wasn't an option anymore, and even though she wasn't sure she'd do it even if she could, she still felt the loss. The whole time she'd known him, he'd longed for something he'd lost that he couldn't have back – now he had it back, she reckoned he'd be a complete moron to jeopardise it in any way. Until three weeks ago when she started feeling the pull to get away, none of this had occurred to her in almost two years.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Her old mobile number, signalling a text message from outer space and all of her worlds colliding. The text read, "Congrats, Mrs. M. Bermuda's brill & so R U. Bon voyage. Luv, the D." She chuckled bitterly, and answered, "Thx," not ready nor wanting to tell the story again, especially in stilted text messaging language. In a couple of weeks, she'd call him and explain properly.

And these thoughts made her feel fatigued. She decided to take her mind away, and to her surprise, she let go of all of it, the way one lets go of a barbell after ten reps. It was a relief.

And so, Martha Jones zoned out for a bit. It was a good thing to do. For eight whole minutes, she did not think of Tom or Bermuda, of Jack or Torchwood, of the Doctor or Rose. She fixated on the passers-by, on people going about their lives. A boy across the street trotted behind his mum eating yoghurt, while she talked on the phone. A courier carrying a full canvas bag came by on his bicycle, and a cheerful-looking older lady stepped aside for him, and smiled. A silver Mercedes stopped at the traffic signal, and she could hear Tears For Fears playing loudly on the speakers inside. Behind her, on the patio of the bed and breakfast, she overheard an American family planning out their day. They were headed to see Parliament and ride the London Eye, and the parents were trying to map out the short path on the Tube. The way they carried on, Martha guessed they were not from New York, Boston, Chicago, Washington or any other city with a reliable train system. The kids were young, maybe between eight and ten, and very excited. They marvelled a bit too loudly about how the people here all "talk funny," and their parents shushed them hastily. Martha smiled.

A minute or two later, the American family walked past her, the parents still fretting over the Underground map. The youngsters had peeled out ahead of the parents toward the street, and the mother looked up a beat too late. The kids had, admittedly, _looked to the right _for cars before running out into the street. But traffic was still coming, and they had just enough time to cross, as though they were playing a real-life game of Frogger.

Actually, they _would have_ had enough time to cross, had they not stopped dead in the middle of the road. A loud skid bounced off the buildings and sounded like a trumpet, the boy was run down by a red Volkswagen, and the girl was narrowly missed. Though, she did not jump out of the way nor react at all. Cars skidded to a stop everywhere, and Martha gave a cry, then ran to help, spilling her coffee over the cobbled path in the garden. As she knelt beside the boy, pulling the mother back by the shoulders, insisting she was a doctor, she glanced at her watch. 8:40 a.m., GMT.


	2. DAY ONE: Part II

DAY ONE: Part II

"Unified Intelligence Taskforce, this is Sergeant Peck."

"This is Captain Jack Harkness, Torchwood. I need to speak to Dr. Martha Jones."

"I'm sorry, Captain Harkness, Dr. Jones is out for the next two weeks." The voice was low, young, and infuriatingly calm.

"What do you mean she's out? We've got a possible intergalactic crisis!"

"Jack! She's just got married!" Gwen half-whispered, half-hissed. "Leave her alone!"

"She's on holiday, sir," the Sergeant said. "She can't be reached."

"What? She's the Chief Medical Officer! Don't tell me she didn't leave a number!"

"I'm afraid I can't divulge that information, sir."

"I frigging hate the military," he said under his breath. Jack sighed. "Fine. I have her mobile number, I'll just… what do you lot know?"

"Nothing much," Peck told him. "Our base in Washington has some experimental med facilities, so they've done some MRI's, blood work and the like. You know, sugar levels, radiation, that sort of thing."

"And?"

"They're saying everything seems normal. But it's still the middle of the night in America. Everyone was asleep when it happened – they're just now getting started. We'll know more later."

"Well, that's very helpful, Sergeant," Jack said sarcastically. Gwen gave him a look. "I'll call Dr. Jones directly."

"As you like, sir."

"Okay, find out anything, let me know immediately."

The Sergeant hung up on him.

"Of all the times for Martha Jones to go on holiday," Jack complained. "I get Sergeant Grunt. I'm talking to a sergeant."

"Don't you dare phone her," Gwen warned, one finger pointed authoritatively at Jack. "She's on her honeymoon. What did they say?"

"UNIT base in Washington has run some tests on a couple of kids, brain scans, blood sugar, checking for radiation," Jack said. Then he took a pregnant pause and reported, "Nothing."

Ianto entered Jack's office, and said, "You're right, he's back."

Jack smiled and laughed wickedly. "I said so!"

The three of them ran to a monitor, only to find a good-looking man wandering about Roald Dahl Plass above their heads, being followed by Torchwood's sentient security cameras.

"What's he doing?" Jack asked.

"Waiting, just like you said," Ianto told him. "He's been there twenty minutes."

"Persistent," from Jack.

"Good sign," in exactly the same tone, from Ianto.

"Dogmatic."

"Always a plus."

"Oh Christ, never work with a couple," Gwen commented, rolling her eyes. "You two talk like twins. Now tell me who he is."

"Rupesh Patanjali," Ianto told her. He explained that Patanjali had seen the hitchhiker alien that he and Jack had captured that morning, and that he'd reported a rash of bodies going missing from NHS morgues.

"Dr. Patanjali," Jack mused. He looked at Gwen and said, "We need a doctor."

As Gwen and Ianto bantered about why Patanjali was there, Jack's mind wandered. His own voice bounced around in his head. _We need a doctor._

But it was more than that. Yes, Patanjali was smart and cute and Torchwood material as far as he could tell, and yes, Torchwood needed a medical officer someday soon, perhaps not in the middle of a crisis. But it's not what the world was going to need. Patanjali didn't even come close to being what _the world_ was going to need.

_We need a doctor, _he'd said. The chain of command started with one doctor and led to the other.

Martha Jones. They had to get to her. She was the only person on the planet who had the information they needed.

"Screw this," Jack said out of nowhere. Ianto was surprised. Gwen had gone, he'd been caught in a moment of relationship angst, and he thought Jack was listening to him. It took him a few seconds to realise that Jack hadn't meant _screw this _for him. Running back toward the office, Jack cried out, "It won't kill Martha Jones to put her knickers back on long enough to make a phone call!"

* * *

Martha had planned on flashing her UNIT credentials upon arrival at the hospital, but she didn't need to. The nearest hospital was her old stomping grounds, Royal Hope, where her friend Oliver Morgenstern was now doing his residency. He convinced his cooperating physician to allow her to treat the American boy. It was lucky she arrived, too, because, the ED was a zoo.

She learned from the news report after stitching up the boy's head and setting his fractured skull in a bandage that there had been seventeen traffic accidents reported at the same moment, 8:40, GMT, all across Britain. From the chaos, Martha could see that far more accidents had occurred, the media had only got hold of the first few, not to mention all of the parents bringing their kids in to be examined after having stopped - just stopped - as they had. There weren't a lot of children in this part of the city at this time of day, but dispatches were being diverted here because the other ED's were full. Children and their parents and teachers were coming in all over the place, the staff was being spread thin, so she decided to make herself available to them.

She was just about to put her mask back on and go out to find someone to ask what she could do next, when she heard a familiar voice.

"Hello! We need a medic here, pronto! We've got a busload of 'em!"

Her head turned toward the voice, and through a set of glass doors, Mickey Smith came bounding in, his demeanour urgent but surprisingly together. He had a little girl in his arms, unconscious, her blonde curls caked with blood.

She ran to him. "Mickey!"

"Martha?" he cried out, totally shocked to see her.

"What the hell is happening?" she asked him.

"Blimey, I thought you'd know!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide. "Look, can you take her? I've got to go help the others!"

He dumped the little girl into her arms, all of five years old, and ran back out the door. Martha turned and ran with the child back into the ED, and began yelling for help.

The little girl had three broken ribs and some internal bleeding, but once they got her on a respirator, it was clear she'd be fine. The next one came from the same accident: concussion, broken arm. The next one had a couple of chipped teeth and a cut on his forehead that looked a lot worse than it was. By then it was five 'til ten. Before anyone else could bring her a mangled child, Martha pulled her gloves, apron and mask off, and she ran back into the lobby to see if she could find Mickey again.

He was signing a police report when she saw him from down the hall. He shook hands with the officer, then turned toward Martha as she approached. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, stricken.

Finally, he broke eye contact, and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out for about twenty seconds, and when it did, his voice was wavering. "I saw a school bus go over a bridge," he said. Martha took in a sharp breath. "Twenty-five kids… I saw them get crushed between the ground and eight tons of metal. Four of them died while I watched. Six, maybe seven years old."

He pursed his lips together to keep from wailing, and tears came to his eyes. Martha rushed forward and hugged him, and he fell against her gratefully, and she could feel how tight he was, how coiled and ready to blow.

"God, Mickey, what were you doing?"

"Just going to work," he said. "Like everyone else. Some kids were crossing the street, and the bus was moving. They stopped, Martha. They just stopped, right there in the street!"

"I know, I saw it too."

"The bus swerved to miss them and it went over the bridge onto a construction site. Fell on its side."

"And you? Where were you?"

"I was on the bridge behind the bus, walking. Watched it go over. I can still…" he gulped. "I can still hear them screaming."

"Where was it?"

"In Sutton," he said. "But the hospital said they couldn't take them – too many schools in the area. They told us to come here."

"It's lucky you were there," she whispered.

"Lucky _you_ were here," he whispered back, his voice still not steady.

She pulled away and looked at Mickey. "Want some tea? Let's get you some tea."

She led him into the doctors' and nurses' lounge, and they waited for some Earl Grey to brew. "Lemon?" she asked.

"No, thanks," he said, looking at the floor.

A tinkling sound came from somewhere in the room, muffled.

"Oh, blimey, that's my mobile," she said.

After a couple of beats, he looked up. "Well, go ahead and get it, I don't mind."

"It's just a voice mail. Besides, it's in Oliver's locker," she said. "My mate, Oliver. I don't actually work here – I'm just helping out. Threw my things in with his."

"I wondered what had happened to UNIT."

She poured the tea and handed it to him in a little Styrofoam cup. "Sorry I don't have ceramic."

"'Sokay," he said.

She sat down with her own cup on the green vinyl sofa beside him. "So what are you up to these days, Mick?"

"Working for a software company," he said. "Writing code."

"Sounds normal," she said. "Good for you."

"Yeah. Sort of boring, though."

"Boring can be good.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm thinking of going freelance."

"Doing what? Writing software?"

"No, the other thing."

"Fighting aliens, you mean?"

"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe just investigating them. It's not _that _crazy – I have got some experience. What about you, are you happy with UNIT?

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She wasn't sure she was _happy_ with anything right now.

"Sorry," he said. "Too much too soon. Once I get up and running, I'll give you a buzz."

"You do that," she said, smiling. "So what else? Girlfriend?"

"Nope," he said. "Still can't… not ready yet. Still sort of skittish."

"About what?"

"Trust. Can't trust anyone. Spent too long being the _second_ priority, hard to believe there's anyone who'll love only me."

"Mickey, that's silly."

"I know. She messed me up good."

Martha nodded. "I reckon she messed us both up pretty good."

He smiled weakly. "Yeah, the two of them. But you… shouldn't the big day be coming up soon?" he asked her.

"It was Saturday."

He smiled warmly. "Congratulations."

"Oh," she sighed. "Don't congratulate me. I spent the day locked in my room crying."

He frowned just as suddenly as the smile had appeared. "What happened?"

She told him the short version.

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh! What a cock."

"Yeah, you can say that again."

"Well, if you want a shoulder to cry on," he said, without a hint of hesitation. "You know who you can call. We can go drown our sorrows or something."

Martha could hear the tinkling of a voice mail notification coming from her mobile, once again.

Just then, Oliver entered and fell with his back against the door, exhaling heavily. "Holy shit," he groaned.

"All right?" Martha asked.

"Lost one," he said.

Her eyes betrayed real sympathy. Since becoming a doctor, that had happened to her a few times now. She reckoned it was a good thing she didn't work in the ED as he did. "I'm sorry," she said. "A little one?"

"Nine years old. Hardly lived at all," he said, angrily peeling his hospital-issue clothing from his body and dropping it into a biohazard bin.

"We made tea," she said. "It's a British crisis. British solution."

"Got any whiskey?" he asked, only half joking.

"I hear that, mate," Mickey commented.

Oliver smiled politely. Martha introduced them, explaining that Mickey had been there to help pull the kids from the bus. Oliver shook his hand and expressed admiration and thanks. It was a nice moment, under very ugly circumstances. Then Oliver turned and opened his locker, so Martha asked for her mobile. She checked her mailbox. The message had been left just after nine.

"Martha, it's Jack," the distinct voice said. "I'm so, so, so sorry to bother you on your honeymoon, but you've got to call me back when you get this message. I don't know if you saw, but something weird is going on with kids. We're not sure how big it is, or what's causing it or how serious it is – well, it's definitely all over Britain, we know that much, and probably America too. It may be extraterrestrial, maybe not. But we're leaning toward yes. I'm going to try and get through to the Home Secretary, but I don't know how that's going to go… we need you. You know why. I mean, we need _you_ too, but… we were hoping you could make a phone call for us. Do you think? I mean, you could just call back and leave us the number…"

Martha looked at Mickey with a dead eye.

"Oh, and if there's any way you could _not _mention to Gwen that I called you, I'll love you forever. Bye." Jack's voice sounded characteristically chirpy as he signed off and the message ended.

"What?" asked Mickey.

"You might want to escape while you still can," she said to him.


	3. DAY ONE:  Part III

DAY ONE: Part III

Half an hour later, Jack, Ianto and Gwen were standing, once again, in front of a monitor. This time, they were studying international footage of a _second_, even stranger, bout with the catatonic children. This one was even creepier than the last, in that the children first screamed all at once, then spoke in unison, saying "We are coming," and from the looks of things, every child in the world had said it in English.

Every single child… and one man. Timothy White, a mental patient in Grinstead, had been the exception to the rule. At age 55, he had stopped, staring into space, and chanted "We are coming," along with all the children of Earth. Gwen had resolved to pay him a visit. She was on her way out the door when the Torchwood office phone rang. She was nearest, so she grabbed it.

"Hello?"

"Jack Harkness please."

"Er, can I tell him who's calling?" Gwen asked.

"Look, whatever he's doing right now, tell him there's a time and a place, and Earth in peril isn't it." The voice was male, English, whimsical but sort of angry.

"Okay, okay," she said. "Hang on."

She held out the phone to Jack. He mouthed _who is it?_ She shrugged.

"Hello?" said Jack.

"Okay, Captain, what's up with the kids?"

"Oh, thank God," Jack sighed.

"Yes, indeed," the voice on the other end said. "But shame on you for disturbing a woman on her honeymoon."

"I know, but… "

"Aw, it's okay," he said. "She's not on her honeymoon anyway."

"What? Why not?"

"I don't know," his voice was low and ominous.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, Jack."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know until just now. I even sent her a text this morning to wish them a _bon voyage_."

"What, you weren't invited to the wedding?"

"Nope."

"Gee, I thought for sure she'd have invited you," Jack mused. "Why didn't she?"

"You know why."

"Yeah, I know why. Still. Didn't that hurt your feelings?"

"Did it hurt yours?"

"No, but… it's different with her and me," Jack said.

"Look can we get back to the task at hand?"

"Sure," Jack asked. "How much did she tell you?"

"Everything she knew," he said. "I want to hear it from your point of view."

"Oh, it's so weird out there."

"I can imagine."

"Where are you now?"

"Oh... hovering. Someplace. Someplace with... er, blue trees, apparently. Look, just sit tight for a few minutes. Tell your people not to go anywhere or do anything. I'm going to swing by and pick up Martha, and we'll see you in ten minutes, yeah? You might want to take down the hub's teleportation defences so I can set the TARDIS down in the med bay."

"Better go with the morgue," Jack advised. "Might need the med bay."

"Just make sure it's clear."

"You got it. See you in a few minutes."

"Yep."

Jack hung up the phone. He smiled at Gwen and Ianto. "He's coming."

"Who?" asked Gwen.

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Oh, okay," she said. Then she smiled with a twinkle. "I like that one. Sort of dashing, he is. _Love _the sideburns – that's right sexy."

"Down girl," Jack scolded. "You're a married woman, remember? Besides, Martha's coming with him…"

"What? Martha who? Martha Jones? Why isn't she in Bermuda, half-naked on the beach with her bloke right now?"

"There is no bloke anymore and I'm not sure why," he said. "But it's beside the point. As long as she's around, there will be no-one coming within an arm's length of the sideburns, literally or figuratively, got it?"

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" Gwen asked.

"Oh, shut up. Just clear out the gurneys in the morgue so he can put the box in there, all right?"

Ianto cleared his throat uncomfortably, and moved toward the stairs.

"And, in the meantime, you're to stay here," Jack told Gwen. "No going to Grinstead unless we get the Doctor's go-ahead. Help Ianto."

"Sure," she agreed.

* * *

Martha hadn't said anything to Mickey about the phone call. When she'd made it, she'd gone into the loo and whispered what she knew, urging the Doctor to call Jack. She'd told him that she had set up camp here at Royal Hope once more, for the day, just to help. She honestly hadn't expected to hear the grinding of the TARDIS gears. Not today. And not right there in the staff lounge where people took their tea and ate their noodle soup.

"Oh, no," Mickey groaned. "Seriously?"

"What in God's name is that?" Oliver called out as the air in the room became displaced and began blowing things about. The blue box began to appear in the corner, and the sound got louder.

"It's just better if you wait and see," Martha told him. "Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

Martha sat back on the sofa and crossed her legs, waiting. Oliver stood gaping, Mickey just crossed his arms in exasperation.

When the door opened, and a tall, spike-haired Time Lord in a blue suit stepped out, Oliver's jaw opened even wider. "You!"

"And you," the Doctor said, shoving his hands in his pockets, frowning at someone he believed to be a total stranger.

"You…" Oliver began. "You are trouble!"

"Oi," the Doctor said. "I don't think I know you well enough for you to say that to me."

"But you know me," Mickey said, standing up. "And I say you're trouble too."

"Mickey!" the Doctor exclaimed. They hugged.

"Wait, what am I doing?" Mickey asked himself.

"Oh, come on, Mick," said the Doctor. "You know you can't resist me."

"Yeah, that's the problem, mate. Apparently no-one can."

The Doctor's eyes roved to Mickey's right and rested upon Martha, still seated. "Hi," he said.

"Hello."

"Well, it's not Bermuda, but it has a certain charm," he said, looking about.

"I belong in scrubs," she said, smiling coyly. "Not in a bikini."

"I'm sure most of humanity (and I) would disagree, but all right," he shrugged.

Heat crept up to her temples then back down again, until she was burning with blush.

"Tell me the truth," Mickey said to Martha. "If I'd said that to you, would I have got out of here alive?"

She blushed deeper, and the Doctor cleared his throat. "Okay then. Ready to go?"

"Go where?" she asked.

"Torchwood," he answered, shrugging.

"Why?" she wanted to know.

"To help Captain Jack!" he said. "They need you. We need you."

"They don't need me."

"They phoned you!"

"That's because they need _you_," she told him.

"They need a doctor."

"You are _the _Doctor," she argued. "You don't need me."

"Not _the _Doctor, Martha," he sighed. "They need _a _doctor."

"They've got you!"

"I'm not _a _doctor!"

"Doctor!"

"Ugh," Mickey groaned. "Who's on first, eh?"

They looked at him for a moment, then began again. "Martha, they're going to need _a _doctor because they're not sure if anything is physiologically wrong with these kids."

"But I'm needed here," she protested.

"Any doctor can do _this_," he told her. "Not just anyone can scan for extraterrestrial interference in the physiological and bio-psychological chemical functions of the human pre-pubescent with any sort of authority."

"You could."

"I'm going to be busy with, you know… alien stuff," he said, vamping a bit. "You know I need someone to look after me, make sure I don't blow up the enemy, and Jack is useless. Besides, parents are a lot less leery of women who want to examine their kids, than they are of men."

"I'm pretty sure most parents are so freaked out right now, if Gary Glitter said he could cure their kids, they'd let him try," Mickey interjected.

"Thanks, Mick," the Doctor said. "Big help. Trying to get her to say _yes_, remember?"

"And I want her to freelance with me. Oh gee. Looks like we're in competition. What fun."

"Mickey, stop it," Martha ordered. "Doctor…"

"You and me and Jack," he said. "Just like the old days. The best _possible_ combination to solve _this_ problem and you know it. We saved the world together. Well, you saved the world with our help…"

She sighed. She looked at the TARDIS and thought about what waited inside. Three's a crowd.

"Please, Martha? I need you."

"If I come…"

"Great!" he shouted, grabbing her hand and running for the box. "Mickey? How about you? Torchwood could always use another tech advisor."

"No way," Mickey said, holding up both hands in a _stop _position. "You know I love you, man, but I'm done."

"What about your freelance alien-fighting?" Martha pointed out.

"Operative syllable being _free_, as in, not in that bloody box. I meant what I said. He's trouble."

The Doctor crossed to him slowly. "Fair enough," he said, offering his hand. "Thanks anyway. Keep an eye on things for us? Call us if it gets weird… er?"

"Count on me. I'll be here if _she _needs me," Mickey said, pointing his chin toward Martha.

The Doctor smirked again. "Good. Let's go, Dr. Jones."

"Bye, Mick, we'll talk soon, okay?" Martha said, waving. "Oliver, see you?"

"Yeah, I guess," he said, still standing in the same, stiff, stunned position as when the TARDIS had arrived.

"That blonde bloke likes you," the Doctor said, once they were inside.

"Oliver? Oh, I'm fairly certain you're mistaken there," she told him, smiling crookedly, sidling up to the console.

"I saw the way he looked at you."

"He was looking at _you_, Doctor."

"Oh."

* * *

The gears ground out of the hospital before Martha looked around and consciously noticed that she and the Doctor were alone.

"Where's Rose?" Martha wanted to know.

The question surprised the Doctor. "Parallel world, remember?"

"No, but…" Martha began, then she stopped, her shoulders dropping, her lip sticking out in confusion. "She was here. The last time I saw you, she was with you."

"She is. With the other me, I mean."

Martha's eyes widened and eyebrows went up. "Ohhhh," she said. "You gave them… each other."

"Mm," the Doctor grunted. "My little gift."

"Very selfless of you," she said, touching his arm. "Really. I know how much it would have meant for you to have her back."

"Yeah, well, she didn't think it was selfless of me. And anyway, it wasn't just for their sake," he told her. "He's dangerous, volatile like I used to be. Knowing him as I do, I gave him the one thing I was sure could calm him down."

Martha smiled sympathetically. She could hardly argue with him. She'd always known him to be fairly level-headed underneath the madcap surface, and if he was going to credit Rose, who was she to say otherwise?

"It hurts to have to walk away, doesn't it?" she asked him.

He smiled back, also sympathetically. "Yeah."

For the first time ever in their relationship, she felt like they had something more than just aliens and doctoring in common.


	4. DAY ONE:  Part IV

DAY ONE: Part IV

The TARDIS was doing its thing, but Martha thought it was taking an awfully long time just to jump from London to Cardiff, and not move in time. Her eyes began darting around the console, then round the room, wondering if something was amiss.

The Doctor was not blind to this. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, a little surprised. "Just… are we teleporting to Cardiff, or going by bus?"

He smirked. "I'm stalling a bit."

"Why?"

"Because I'm waiting for something," he said.

"Well, yes," she said. "That's the definition of stalling. But what are you waiting for?"

In lieu of an answer, he crossed his arms and looked at her pointedly. Her eyebrows raised with inquiry, and in response, the Doctor leaned against one of the TARDIS' bannisters, settling in for a staring contest, apparently.

Martha sighed. She knew what he was waiting for. "Now?"

"Yes, now," he said.

"Bad break-up. The worst kind. It's difficult to talk about, Doctor."

"Undoubtedly," he said. "But if it had happened to me, you would want me to talk about it before we went into some global crisis together."

She put her hands on her hips, exasperated. He shrugged, not comprehending.

"Doctor," she shot at him. "Something like this _did _happen to you, and I _did_ want you to talk about it, but you wouldn't. And it stood in the way of…"

She'd stopped herself, and the two of them lost eye contact for a moment.

Then she took a deep breath and continued, "But we dealt with our global crises just fine."

"So, what, then? This is revenge?" he asked.

"No," she insisted. "I'm just not ready to tell the whole story. Even my parents have just got the abridged version."

"So give me that much."

"I can't."

"Why not?" he wanted to know, frankly, a little hurt.

"Because with you…" she began.

He waited a few moments, then, "What? What's with me?"

"With you, I can't do things part-way. You know that. It's why I…"

"I know," he interrupted. A beat, then, "You still feel that way?"

"Not like…" she began. "No. Well, yes. Sort of. It's different now. I'm different."

"I know. I can see that. It concerns me."

"Why are you so keen, anyway?"

"I'm not keen," he told her defensively. "I just thought… aren't we sort of starting over today?"

"Sort of," she said. "You found me at Royal Hope at a time when my family and personal life were driving me mad."

He smiled at her. "See? Your attachments are gone, my attachments are gone, I thought we'd have a clean slate. Even if you don't stay…"

"Stay?"

"We'll talk about that later. The point is… there's an elephant in the room."

"Yeah, well," she sighed, leaning on the console. "With us, there always has been."

Now it was his turn to sigh. He stood up straight and went back to his controls on the console. "All right, then."

She felt a little guilty. "Doctor, I'm sorry. I promise, it's not that I don't want to tell you, I just… can't. It's too much right now."

"I know. I get it," he said to her. Then he softened his tone and looked at her properly, through drawn eyelashes. "I really do."

She smiled. "I know you must. I lived with ghosts in this TARDIS for a year."

"Just promise you won't tell Captain Jack before you tell me."

"Oh, I promise. Don't worry about that."

* * *

"Martha!" Gwen said, coming down the stairs and into the entry of the morgue to meet them, as the two doctors emerged from the TARDIS. The two ladies hugged, and then Gwen took Martha's head in both hands and said, "I am so sorry to hear about you and Tom."

"Thanks," Martha said. "Means a lot."

Jack was greeting the Doctor, and turned next to hug Martha, while the Doctor, Gwen and Ianto made introductions. "Came back _again_ to see me, did you?" he laughed.

"Yep," she said. "Couldn't stay away. You're like catnip, you."

"I knew it. It was the smooch. Once had, always yearned for."

"Smooch?" the Doctor asked Jack, with a bit too much of an "ooo" sound, so much that it contorted his face slightly.

Jack held up his hands in defence. "Don't look at me, it was all her."

The Doctor looked at Martha with a "What the hell?" sort of expression. She smiled and shrugged and followed Gwen into the med bay. It was immaculate, clean and white, and the instruments, she could see, where exactly the way Owen liked them. They probably had not been touched since he died (for the last time, that is). As she remembered, it was a fully-equipped facility, and she felt sort of privileged to have her own domain for a while.

They all went up the stairs to the computer terminals.

"All right, tell me everything. Start from the beginning and don't leave anything out," the Doctor said to Jack, perching himself atop Tosh's old stool. He leaned back, crossed his legs and arms and waited.

"Okay," Jack said. "This morning, Ianto and I woke up at his flat, had coffee in bed…"

"I spoke too soon," The Doctor interrupted. "You can leave out _that _part. Skip ahead. Please."

"We've been tracking these hitchhiker things for a while, and we got a reading that another one had appeared at a local hospital. So we went, and the man had already died, but we were able to extract the hitchhiker. Trouble is, we were seen by one of the doctors there, a Rupesh Patanjali…"

Jack, Ianto and Gwen proceeded to relate the whole story of the morning, including the kids stopping, the accident reports, luring Patanjali back to the hub, calling Martha, trying to get hold of the Home Secretary, failing that, John Frobisher, and finally ending with Timothy White, the lone chanting man.

"Is there a voice underlying the broadcast?" the Doctor asked, after Jack was finished.

"The broadcast?"

"Yeah, the kids' speaking is a broadcast," he said. "Some frequency that only pre-pubescent humans, and one adult human, can pick up."

"It's not like possession?" asked Ianto.

"No," the Doctor said. "It's literally like a radio signal, and the kids' dials are tuned to it, while yours aren't. I'm guessing that sex hormones inhibit it in some way. We should look into that White bloke, see what his medical history says. I'll bet we'll find a hormone-blocking drug of some sort. Is he a sex offender in rehab? Or maybe erectile dysfunction."

They all looked at each other and shrugged.

"Could that be the key to reversing this thing?" Jack asked.

"Could be," the Doctor answered. "But I'd be very reluctant to start pumping children full of hormones. Let's just see if we can't find an outside solution, eh?"

"I was just about to go and see Tim White when you called," Gwen told the Doctor. "I can still do that."

"Might as well not bother the man until we examine a child," the Doctor said. "If we can work out where it's coming from, then it might not even matter _why_ Mr. White is receiving the transmission. We may be able to stop it without his help."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Jack said. "About needing a kid, I mean."

"Yeah, we've been thinking the same thing, but we weren't sure how to get one," Ianto said. "I've got a niece and nephew…"

"I've got…" Jack began. Everyone waited for him to finish. "I've got a friend who has a son that I could visit."

"No, no," the Doctor said. "Way too haphazard, your people will see right through it if they know you at all. We should go to a proper hospital where people have brought their children in anyway. There's bound to be people all over the place flooding the psych wards just 'cause they don't know what the hell is going on with their kids. We'll test 'em, set their minds at ease, make them think someone's actually doing something about it."

The group looked at each other again. "Good, now we're getting somewhere," Gwen said.

Jack pulled his mobile phone from his pocket, dialled and asked for Dr. Patanjali. He told the good doctor their plans, and he agreed to let Jack into the psych ward, though reluctantly. He was a new doctor, not totally comfortable with this Cloak-and-Dagger business yet.

"Aw, that's cute," Martha said. "Admit, bandage, release. Admit, bandage, release. So simple. It's almost like a song, isn't it?"

"Well, they can't all be alien-fighting docs with world-saving credentials under their belts," Jack said, nudging her gently with his arm. "Cut the man some slack."

"Gwen, you've got police contacts, yeah?" the Doctor asked. "Can you get stats on the accidents not reported to the media?"

"I'm on it," she said, picking up the phone.

"Ask if they can do a sweep of hospitals in the UK, and the rest of Europe. Some of them may not have been reported to the police either."

"Got it," she called absently, fingers already busy on the keypad.

"Brilliant," the Doctor said, getting to his feet. He took Martha's hand, then looked at Jack. "You're driving. Come on."

* * *

Martha made a mental note never again to ride in a car with a man who can't die at the wheel. The Doctor had been very nice to let her sit in the front seat, but she was absolutely going to ride in the back of the SUV on the return trip to the hub.

They peeled into a parking spot in front of the hospital, and as they did so, an Indian man was running toward them. He seemed to recognise Jack, and Martha assumed that this must be Dr. Patanjali. He looked a bit distressed.

"Shit," Jack muttered. "I don't like that look on his face."

Martha and the Doctor didn't respond, but exited the vehicle with one eye on Patanjali.

"I promise, we can zap these kids' memories so they won't remember a thing. No side effects," Jack told the young doctor, assuming that child welfare was the reason for his unrest.

Patanjali all but dismissed him. "There's been another death."

He and Jack took off running toward the hospital, and the Doctor and Martha followed.

They entered the building and got in the lift, and Jack said, "Oh, Rupesh, these are my associates. Dr. Martha Jones from UNIT and… er…"

"Smith," the Doctor said. "Doctor Smith. And hey… what the hell? I'm with UNIT too."

"Pleasure," Patanjali said, shaking each of their hands. "Rupesh Patanjali."

"So what's going on here?" the Doctor asked. "Jack brought me up to speed on the missing bodies. Well, sort of. But this is another?"

Rupesh looked at Jack, who nodded his approval that the Doctor was indeed "one of them," and it was all right to speak freely.

"Mr. Chow Li-Ji," said Rupesh. "Chinese… again. He came in with a nosebleed that wouldn't stop, next thing I know it's been diagnosed as a brain hemmorrage. He died at 16:25."

When they reached the examination room, he turned to the Doctor and Martha. "Sorry. Authorised personnel only."

"So authorise us," the Doctor ordered.

"Can't do that, Dr. Smith," Rupesh protested. He seemed very, very nervous now.

The Doctor's eyes were drawn to the left where a man beyond the plastic curtain was, very clandestinely, looking at them and speaking into a radio clipped to his epaulet. He was calling for backup. The Doctor had seen _that_ at least a thousand times. Something was up.

"It's all right," Jack said to the Doctor. "I'll go in with him."

"Now, Captain," the Doctor said exaggeratedly. "Which one of us is the doctor?"

"I am," said Martha. "I'll go in."

Without asking permission or looking at any of the three men, Martha pushed her way through the plastic curtain.

Outside the room, she could hear, "Er, Dr. Jones, that's really not a good idea…" he tried to push his way into the room, but the Doctor, uncharacteristically, held onto his arm.

Martha turned back and looked, and she could see the Doctor's hand gripping the man's elbow. "Why don't you just let her do her thing? She's a professional."

"UNIT is not authorised…" he protested from outside.

The body of a middle-aged Chinese man was on a slab. Martha made a beeline for the metal shelf to her right and pulled a set of rubber gloves from a box. "Oh, who's going to tell?" she said to him, rather absently, as she examined the purple veins in the man's temple. She didn't like it. She gingerly opened his eyes, noted the bruising, then closed them.

Outside the door, once again, Martha heard voices.

"Captain Harkness," Patanjali was saying. "Would you like to see the morgue where the others disappeared? There might be something there that you can use."

"Oh, I think Captain Harkness would like to stay right here," the Doctor said, matter-of-factly. There was a pause, then, "He can't bear to be away from me."

Martha smirked as she tossed her gloves into a bin.

She went to the foot of the slab, and the patient's chart was hanging from it, just like from the end of a proper hospital bed. MRI scans were included, and she studied them carefully. Patanjali had been telling the truth about the nosebleeds, but the diagnosis from another doctor had been an excess of dry heat, treatable with some petroleum jelly and extra hydration. Far from a brain hemmorrhage, indeed.

She knew that the Doctor hated the idea of her carrying a weapon, but today, she wished she had it on her. This Patanjali looked like a doe-eyed boy, but he may be a force to be reckoned with. She made brief, disturbing eye contact with the guard in the room, and could hear the crackling of his radio.

Martha stepped back out of the room. Jack looked positively nonplussed, probably wondering why the Doctor wasn't letting Patanjali go anywhere. The Doctor looked at her intensely, waiting for a response. She looked at him meaningfully, and he understood.

Then she turned her attention to Patanjali. "Who suffocated Mr. Chow?"

"Beg pardon?" Patanjali asked unconvincingly, gulping.

"Who suffocated him?"

"I told you, he died of…"

"A brain hemmorhage, I know," she said. "But there is bruising round his irises…"

"That's…"

"Which could be a hemmorrhage, except there is no evidence of any clotting or abnormality on his MRI. The next most obvious explanation for the bruising is suffocation. I'm going to guess it was a pillow, since this is a hospital. So I'll ask you again: who killed him?"

Patanjali looked positively petrified. He looked at Jack, who gave him a shocked, steely gaze. He looked at the Doctor, who leaned coolly against the wall and said, "You must have known she'd see it, that's why all that rubbish about _unauthorised_. But what I can't work out is why tell us about this in the first place if it's someone you killed yourself."

The young doctor opened his mouth to speak, and nothing came out. Martha almost felt sorry for him. Clearly, as Jack had said, he was not used to this business. If he was a bad guy, then he was new at it.

They all waited for him to speak, but nothing was forthcoming for an uncomfortably long time. Eventually, Martha sighed and said to Jack, "Why don't you go to the psych ward, see if there are any parents willing to come with us back to the hub with their kids. Leave the interrogation to us."

"Martha, why don't you do that?" the Doctor said. "I'm not letting Jack out of my sight."

She was surprised, but she didn't ask why. "Okay," she shrugged. "I guess that's better anyway."

"Jack, give her your gun," the Doctor said.

Without question, Jack pulled his pistol from his pocket, checked that it was loaded and safe, and handed it to Martha. She tucked it into her jeans and covered it with the back of her jacket.

As she turned to go, the Doctor grabbed her fingers. "We'll come and find you when we're done. Call if you have any trouble."

"I will."

"I mean it. _The minute_ you have any trouble…"

"I've got it, thanks."


	5. DAY ONE:  Part V

DAY ONE: Part V

The Doctor and Jack hauled Patanjali into an examination room, away from prying ears.

"So, you heard the lady," Jack said, throwing Patanjali into a chair. "Who killed him?"

Rupesh sighed. "I did. It just fit. I'm sorry."

"Why'd you do it?" asked Jack.

"Nah, wrong question, Jack," the Doctor said. "Who do you work for, Dr. Patanjali?"

"Excuse me?" Patanjali asked.

"You heard me."

"No-one," he said. "I…"

"Look, don't waste my time," the Doctor snapped, getting just a bit in Patanjali's face. "Those bodies going missing from the morgue here were acts of protest vandalism by a group of extremist religious lobbyers who were demonstrating against western tactics in medicine and the perceived _forced_ nature of treatment in Europe and North America. The crime had been solved, and everyone inside the NHS knows that. So unless you're working for someone, why would you be so keen to get Captain Jack alone in that little room? Never mind, don't answer that. But I'll just bet that it's got something to do with those kids."

"What kids? No, I…"

"How long have you known about this?" Jack asked.

"Weeks," said the Doctor.

"So that includes this morning when I told you about it? Why didn't you say?"

"Didn't think it was related," the Doctor shrugged. "Not until this genius turns up with _another _so-called _missing_ body."

"Well, is there anything else you're keeping on a need-to-know basis?" Jack asked, throwing up his hands.

The Doctor's eyebrows went uneven, and his voice went higher. "Nope, that's it. I'll let you know if you need to know anything else."

"You are impossible, do you know that?"

Rupesh looked at Jack. "Er, do this one, and the one from this morning, know about each other?"

"What?"

"You know," Rupesh said, blushing just a bit. "The bloke you were with this morning?"

"Ianto?" Jack asked. Then he looked at the Doctor, and back at Rupesh. "What's he got to do with… oh, I see. No, no… the Doctor and I we're not…"

"Eye on the ball, please, Jack," the Doctor interrupted. "We'll deal with our relationship woes later. For now, Dr. Patanjali, tell us the truth so we can help you."

"I swear, I'm not working for anyone."

"Then why get Torchwood involved?"

"Well… it's complicated," he vamped. "You see… there's… well…"

"Bzz! Time's up, James Bond! I want the truth! Who are you working for?" the Doctor shouted.

Four shots rang out in the tiny room, practically deafening the three of them. Jack fell to his knees and slumped forward, dead, against Patanjali, and the Doctor did his best to catch. A severe-looking, almost reptilian, woman stood in the doorway, her weapon trained on Rupesh.

"Me," she said, glancing briefly at the Doctor. "He's working for me."

* * *

As Martha made her way quickly down the corridors toward the children's ward, she double-checked the weapon Jack had given her, and marvelled at the oddity of the Doctor suggesting anyone carry a gun. He must feel that this was a mightily tetchy situation, that Patanjali couldn't be trusted, that whomever he was working for was lurking about, that aliens were attacking children and that warranted weaponry, or he was just really, really keen that Martha remain safe. Really keen… or possibly all of the above. She scoffed at the last one. She didn't think he saw her as someone who needed protecting, and she was never really his first priority...

Still, she rarely questioned him; she trusted in his process. Especially when the results made her feel safer.

She entered the psych ward, and sure enough, the place was flooded with scared parents and their children, just like the ED at Royal Hope.

A young woman caught her eye, brown curly hair, a little plump, sitting near the corner, staring at a little girl with blonde pigtails. She had a book open in her lap, but her face was blank. She was not reading; she was too busy worrying.

Martha took the seat next to her. "Hi."

The woman seemed surprised. "Oh, hello."

"Is that your daughter there?" Martha asked, referring to the blonde pigtailed-girl.

"Yeah," the woman said.

"Pretty scary business, this."

"That's an understatement. _We are coming_. What does that even mean?"

"Don't know," Martha sighed.

"No one seems to," the woman whispered to her. "I brought her in almost two hours ago, and nothing. Not one child has been called inside since I've been here, and the waiting room just gets more and more crowded. They say they're running tests, though. Truth be told, I don't think anyone even has a clue what kind of tests to run."

"I think you're right," Martha told her. "It's hard to know. It's unprecedented and weird – what would _you _do?"

"Right. Still, it's better than sitting home doing nothing. At least someone's doing something… I think," she said. She smiled weakly at Martha, and sighed. "Thanks for talking to me. It really helps, you know? You're the first non health-care-professional adult I've spoken to all week. It's just me and her at home, and today, all anyone can do is panic."

Martha felt awful. "No problem. My name's Martha."

"Julie." The lady's eyes scanned the room. "Which one is yours?"

"Well, I'm not here to have my child treated, I'm actually a doctor myself," Martha told her. She pulled her credentials from her pocket once more and gave them to the lady. "I work for a special taskforce called UNIT, which investigates… well, unusual cases like this. I'm currently contracting with Torchwood…"

"Torchwood?" Julie said loudly. Martha shushed her, and she lowered her voice. "Torchwood! That means this is alien-related? I mean, really?"

"Possibly," Martha whispered. "We want to find that out."

Julie looked at her stunned for a few seconds, and for a horrible interval, Martha thought she'd blown it. "You want… is that why you're talking to me?"

"Well, that, and it looked like you could use a friend."

"This is… this is mad," Julie sighed, her hand on her forehead. "You want to experiment on my daughter?"

"Not experiment," Martha said. "Just gather data. Check blood, brain activity, hormone levels…"

"Hormones? Why ever?"

"Because it's just kids this is happening to," Martha answered. "It may have to do with the lack of sex hormones. We don't know – that's why we need a child. No-one on the team has children... anymore. That I know of."

Again, Julie was stunned.

"Come on, you said yourself that nothing in here has moved in hours," Martha pointed out. "And you want to know that someone is doing something? Well, someone is. We are. I can tell you're a forward-thinking woman, and I can tell you're a concerned mum. Please. We need someone like you to say yes."

Julie was still reluctant, and she said, "Will it be you poking at her and prodding, or some random bloke in a lab coat?"

"Well, most likely me and my… partner," she said. "He's good with kids, though, and I'll be there the whole time."

"What about me?"

"You'll come, of course."

"When?"

"Now. As soon as possible."

Julie sighed again. "Well," she said. "Let's see what Leandra says. Leandra, love?"

The blonde girl looked up at her mum and crossed the room happily. "I made a snake," she said, handing her mother a long series of multi-jointed, multi-coloured plastic pieces strung together through simple clasps. "It's Paul."

"Paul the snake? All right," Julie said, smiling, as she pulled her daughter into her lap. "Leandra, this is Martha."

"Hi, Leandra," Martha said, taking the little girl's hand. "How are you feeling today?"

"Good. I made a snake."

"I see that," Martha chirped. "It's a lovely snake. Does he talk?"

"Yes! He says, _we are coming! We are coming!_"

"Honey, honey, stop that," Julie chided, covering her little girl's mouth. A few parents looked at them harshly.

"Well, I've heard that you've been saying some strange things," Martha said. "And your mum is a bit worried."

"Yeah. She says I need to be examinated."

"I think so too, and I know 'cause I'm a doctor."

"You're a doctor?"

"I sure am!"

"Wow!"

"I know, isn't it cool? And what would you say if I were the one to examine you?"

"Okay," the girl agreed. She began swinging her feet and accidentally kicked Martha in the knee.

"Is it all right if I examine you _along with _my friend? He's a man. A tall man, but he's gentle and he won't hurt you. I'll make sure he warms up his stethoscope and everything."

"Okay," Leandra agreed again, once again kicking Martha in the knee. "When do we go?"

As if in response, Martha heard four loud gunshots coming from some other part of the hospital. She just knew. "Now," she told the girl and her mother, as calmly as possible. "We go now."

Without letting anyone know her feeling of panic, she took the girl's hand and headed toward the door. She peeked outside to see if anyone, good or bad, was coming. She saw no-one, so she began to head slowly in the direction from which she had come.

"What was that noise?" Julie asked.

"I don't know," Martha lied. "Car backfired maybe."

"Four times?"

Just then, two men rounded the corner in front of her, carrying the body of another.

"Martha, take the sonic and open the door! Left breast pocket," the Doctor shouted. Martha searched within the Doctor's inside coat pocket, extracted the instrument and ran down the hall in the opposite direction, toward an emergency exit. She disabled the alarm, and let in the fading sunlight.

"What in God's name…" Julie shouted, staring at Jack's temporarily lifeless, bleeding form and picking up her daughter. "I didn't sign on for this!"

"Julie, please, it's not as bad as it looks," Martha insisted as the Doctor and Rupesh carried Jack past the mother and child.

"Who's she?" the Doctor asked.

"She's going to let us examine her little girl," Martha answered, holding the door open. "Come on, come on!"

"Like hell I am! This is… this is…"

The sound of Jack wheezing then cut through the air, and he squirmed enough that the Doctor and Rupesh lost their grip and dropped him. He got up on his knees and shook away the cobwebs and looked about.

"Oh my God, it's true!" Rupesh shouted.

"All right?" asked the Doctor.

"Yeah," Jack said. "Thanks for taking me out of there."

The sound of militant footsteps was coming from not so far away. "Er, we'd better move!" Patanjali pointed out.

Their guns could be heard clanging against their nightsticks. Their boots got closer and closer, and when the first militia man came round the corner, one of the reptile woman's team, Martha shouted. "We've got to go! Julie, in our out?"

"No time for that," the Doctor shouted back. He took the little girl from Julie's arms and ran.

"Oi!" Julie shouted, coming after him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Saving your life!" he shouted back as they penetrated the afternoon sun once more.

Martha turned and attempted to seal the door with the sonic. She wasn't sure of the right setting, but it was worth a shot. She hoped she'd at least found something to help slow them down.

They ran to the SUV and ripped open the doors. The Doctor almost literally tossed the girl into the backseat and shoved her mother inside, then climbed in himself. Patanjali followed, and Martha climbed into the front seat, not having quite shut the door before Jack began peeling out of the car park.

Everyone but Jack watched the reptile woman and her flunkies burst out of the hospital and pile into a Jeep.

"Martha, sonic," the Doctor said. She handed it back to him, and he reached across mother and daughter and lowered the window. Leandra sat trembling in her mother's lap as he leaned across them, aiming the sonic at the Jeep which had skidded out into traffic wrecklessly behind them. Something short-circuited under the hood of the military vehicle, and it went careening into a chainlink fence just off the road. Jack floored it, and the SUV went on a faster-than-usual trip back to the hub.

"How…" Julie gasped. "How is this saving our lives?"

The Doctor put the window back up and sat back in his seat. "They saw you with us. If they'd caught you, they'd have hauled you in for questioning, and they wouldn't take _we don't know them _for an answer. Would they, Rupesh?"

"No, I'm thinking they wouldn't," Rupesh sighed.

"Now who the hell are they?" the Doctor demanded.

"Language!" Julie said.

"Sorry."


	6. DAY ONE:  Part VI

DAY ONE: Part VI

"Look," Jack shouted, taking Rupesh Patanjali by the collar. "I'm only letting you in here because if I let you go, you'll either double cross me or get killed. And in spite of myself, I don't want either one of those things to happen."

"Great," said Rupesh. "Thanks."

Jack let go of him with a little shove. "But if you so much as step one toe out of line…"

"Yeah, you'll kill me, I get it."

"No," Jack said, and indicated the Doctor. "But my friend here will have you sentenced to an intergalactic prison. And trust me – you don't wanna drop the soap there, so you just keep your nose clean, you got it?"

"Loud and clear," Rupesh said. The whole group moved through the private Torchwood garage and headed toward the security door. "So where do we start with the tests?" he asked Martha.

"Excuse me?" Jack said, swiping his card. "We?"

The door re-armed itself.

"Well, at least let me help," Patanjali insisted. "I'm not a monster, I can do some good here."

Jack faced him squarely again. "You contracted with a government thug to have me killed, and in the process you murdered an innocent Chinese man. Am I going to let you anywhere near medical instruments?"

"Jack, can we just get inside?" the Doctor asked. "You can play this game anywhere."

"Martha?" Jack asked.

"Fine with me," she said. "There's like five of us, and one of him. Besides, we need someone to do the sterilization."

Jack finished swiping his card and they all entered the hub. Julie, Leandra, Martha and the Doctor passed Jack as they went inside. Finally, Patanjali crossed the threshold, and he stopped. "Jack, honestly, it didn't start out this way. Initially, I was just supposed to infiltrate. Then when the thing with the kids started happening, they suddenly wanted you dead."

"Why?"

"I have no idea! I swear!"

Jack stared at him with steel in his eyes for a few awful seconds. Then he said, "Just see that you redeem yourself so that I don't have to lock you up, all right?"

"Yeah."

* * *

"This is Chief Medical Officer Dr. Martha Jones of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce. It's Monday, 6 July, 2009, the current local time is nineteen forty-one. It is day one, hour eleven of the global chanting crisis. This is a data-gathering examination in order to discover the source of anomalous behaviour affecting pre-adolescents spanning the entire planet Earth. The subject is human, four years, five months old, female, Welsh. No known current nor chronic medical condition, no drugs have been administered in the past twenty-four hours. Subject's name: Leandra Meri Gilbert," Martha said into the microphone.

"Can I say hello?" asked Leandra. Martha held the microphone to her, and she said, "Hello! This is Leandra G. with action news!"

Martha chuckled and brought the microphone back to her own lips. "We are using Torchwood Cardiff's medical facilities, which I have assessed as fully equipped for examinations both of human and non-human subjects. Present at the Torchwood hub are Captain Jack Harkness, officer Gwen Cooper and officer Ianto Jones of Torchwood. Present in the room are the examiner and subject, Mrs. Julie Gilbert, the subject's mother, Dr. Rupesh Patanjali of the NHS, and… the Doctor. Of… well…"

"Just hit _pause_," the Doctor advised.

Martha took his advice and looked at him sideways. Simple things could be so complicated with him about, and vice versa.

Jack came into the room from the morgue with a tiny cup, and handed it to Martha. "For when you're done," he said.

"What's that?" asked the Doctor.

Martha showed him. "It's Retcon," she said. "Erases twenty-four hours' memory."

"Yeah, thanks," the Doctor said, a bit sarcastically. "But I don't think I'll be giving any heavy-duty mind-altering drugs to a four-year-old, but thank you anyway, Captain."

"How do you plan on…" Jack began.

"The old-fashioned way," answered the Time Lord. "Not the Torchwood way."

"Fine," Jack shrugged. "Suit yourself." He disappeared up the stairs to join Ianto and Gwen at the computer terminals.

While she had been talking and the Doctor had been preparing Leandra and Julie for the process, Patanjali had been sterilising the instruments, washing down the countertops, readying the area.

Doctor picked up a narrow plastic blood tube attached to a scary-looking syringe and handed it to Martha. He tipped an eyebrow at her, and then sat down on a stool near Leandra.

"So, Leandra, are you in school yet?"

She smiled. "Yes."

"I knew it. Moment I saw you, I thought, that's a girl big enough to be in school. Have you got a boyfriend, are you driving a car?"

Leandra giggled. "No! I don't like boys."

"Oi!" he exclaimed, watching Martha plunge the needle in the girl's arm and begin pumping blood. "Who do you think you're talking to there, young miss?"

Again, the girl giggled. "Not you!" she assured him. "You're not a boy!"

"I'm not?"

"No, you're a grown up guy. Like Uncle Peter."

"Oh, I see. Boys are icky, but me and Uncle Peter, we're all right?"

"Yeah."

"How about Dr. Patanjali?"

"Dunno," Leandra shrugged. "Is he nice?"

"Dunno that yet myself," the Doctor confessed, one eye on a nervous Rupesh. "What do you learn about at school, then?"

"My teacher is Miss Patrick. She taught us now to make turtles with our crayons."

"You know how to make a turtle _and_ a snake? My goodness, you're talented! Or you just really like reptiles."

"No, I don't like reptiles," Leandra insisted. "They're gross!"

"You don't like boys _or_ reptiles?" the Doctor asked exaggeratedly. "Not even dinosaurs? Dinosaurs are the best! Well, maybe not the boy dinosaurs…"

"No!" Leandra giggled. "They're just big and floppy and they step on things! They would step on you!"

"No way," he told her. "I've met them. They would _never _step on me, not even if I were a bug. They're my mates."

She laughed as Martha extracted the sample and tied it off, then handed it to Rupesh. Leandra had never even known any blood had been drawn.

And so it went. Thanks to a careful regimen of talking, planning and judicious ridiculousness on the part of the three doctors, Leandra's data was taken almost without her knowing any of it. Her mother watched in awe as the girl was manhandled, poked, prodded and scanned, and the subject was never the wiser.

* * *

One hour later, nearly all of the data had been gathered, though not analysed. For that, they would need the whole team. The three doctors listened to Martha's narration on the tape, as Martha extracted a tube of clear jelly from a drawer underneath the exam table.

"Subject's blood group is AB negative," the tape said. "Bone mass falls well within the normal range, and protein samples within hair and nails evidence exceptional nutrition. IQ exam reveals above-average intelligence. Motor skills and functions are normal, reflexes of the legs and eyes are normal, psychiatric evaluation conducted with present parent revealed no anomaly. Throat culture tested normal, lung activity is normal, heart-rate is slightly accelerated, but the subject's heightened excitement due to this process must be taken into account."

"So, does any of that mean anything?" Gwen asked. She was standing at the top of the stairs, and she startled everyone currently in the med bay.

"Not sure yet," said the Doctor. "Takes a while just to get the info, let alone work it out."

"Oh, you'll have it licked in no time," Gwen said, coming down the stairs with a bounce. "How's the patient?"

"Holding up great," Martha said as she kneaded and warmed the jelly between her two hands. "She's been very brave."

"What about mum?" Gwen asked, winking at Julie.

"Oh, a little less great, but alive," the mother said, smiling weakly. "All of this is so scary. And it feels so futile. No offence."

"Look, she's going to be fine," Patanjali assured her. It was his natural doctor's reaction to a concerned parent. He was prepping an ultrasound machine, calibrating the electrical impulses.

"And with the Doctor's help, we can work out anything," Martha chimed in. "Just you wait."

"Oh, thanks for that," the Doctor muttered. "No pressure."

Martha ignored him and emptied some of the jelly onto her hands. "All right, Leandra. One more test."

"Ew, what's that?" the girl asked, for the first time pulling away from one of the doctors.

"Well, it's some gel designed to keep you cool," Martha said. "Do you want to touch it?"

Leandra made a face. "It looks like snot."

"It's all right, it won't hurt you," Martha assured her. "You see, we put this on your tummy and chest so that we can see if there's anything in there. That machine there has a little wand, and we run it over the gel, and it lets us look inside you."

"What?" Leandra asked, making now a different face. "No!" It was more of an expression of disbelief, not of refusal to try it.

"No, really," Gwen said. "I know these doctors can sound mad sometimes, but trust me, I'm not a doctor, and even I know it's true!"

Leandra laughed at Gwen's wide-eyed declaration.

"Really, Leandra, just touch it," Martha said. Then she turned to Julie. "The gel is used because sometimes sonography has a tendency to heat soft tissue. And it acts as a lubricant, that's all."

"It's fine," Julie shrugged. "She just doesn't like anything gooey. She won't eat flapjacks because of the syrup."

"Oh, it's not so bad," Gwen said. "Watch, Martha will try it on me first."

Gwen lifted her shirt to expose about four inches of flesh between her trousers and tee-shirt. Martha rubbed a thin layer of the gel on Gwen's abdomen while Leandra watched intently. Rupesh handed Martha the wand, which she proceeded to rub over the small surface of Gwen's exposed skin.

"See? It's cool, like a smooth ice pack," Gwen told her as Martha continued to move the wand. "And the readings come up on the screen over there."

"Er, Dr. Jones?" Rupesh muttered, staring at said screen.

"Mm?" Martha asked, engrossed in Leandra's unsure, but smiley, reaction.

The Doctor looked up when Rupesh called to Martha. His face morphed into an _oo. _"Er, Martha," he said. She looked at him. He pointed to the screen where Rupesh was standing, and said, "Look."

Martha looked, and her face morphed into the same shape as the Doctor's had.

"What's going on?" Gwen asked, trying not to sound nervous. "Leandra and I have inquiring minds."

Still holding the wand to Gwen's body, Martha said, "Gwen, can I get you to unzip your trousers a little, and lie upon the exam table?"

"What?" Gwen asked. "Why?"

"Everything's fine, I promise, I just need a closer look."

"Leandra, would you mind hopping down for a moment, sweetheart?" the Doctor asked, taking the girl by the hand. He helped her down, and she went and sat in her mother's lap.

Worried, Gwen did as Martha asked. Rupesh recalibrated the instrument, Martha prepared the gel and the wand, while the Doctor covered Gwen from the waist down with a thick paper tarp. "Can you expose just a bit more of your stomach, love?" he asked.

Gwen sighed with tedium, and pulled her trousers enough that she was glad of the covering. She assumed that that's why the Doctor had given it to her – because what he wanted was something that would have been otherwise embarrassing.

Martha handed the wand to the Doctor and applied a thicker layer of gel to Gwen's body. The Doctor began moving the wand in circles, and within less than thirty seconds, Gwen began to hear a rough pulsing sound. Martha smiled at her. "Do you hear that?" she asked.

"Yes," Gwen said. "What the hell is it?"

No-one said anything for a long moment, but everyone seemed on the edge of laughter. Even Julie was smiling.

"Come on, you lot! What's the joke?"

"You really don't know?" asked Martha.

"No! What the hell is happening?"

"Jack! Ianto!" the Doctor called out. "Better come and see!"

The two men appeared at the top of the stairs and listened to the sound. "Oh God!" Ianto exclaimed.

"We're having a baby!" Jack cried out, crashing down the stairs with Ianto in tow. He fell upon Gwen and covered her head and face with kisses.

"What?" Gwen shreiked. "No. No way! Not me! No way!"

"Gwen it's right there," Martha said, pointing at the screen.

"Right where? What are you on about?"

"That noise you're hearing, that's the heartbeat," Martha told her.

Gwen looked helplessly at Jack, asking for answers, support, anything.

"The image is fading, Doctor, keep the wand moving," Martha demanded. He had become distracted, but focused again when Martha asked. She pointed to the screen at a barely noticeable dot. "This is your baby. Congratulations."

Gwen's mouth dropped open and she stared at the screen. A little cry escaped her lips and tears began to form. "But it's just a dot! It's just… it can't be!"

Jack hugged her. "But it is."

"Oh what do you know?" she asked, chuckling and crying at the same time.

"Nothing," Jack said. "But if _they_ see it, it's good enough for me." He kissed the top of her head once more.

Gwen's hand went to her mouth and she continued to stare at the screen. Everyone tried commenting in turn, but she was too engrossed in the blob of moving nothing on the screen. To her, it looked like an image of the deep sea, unidentifiable plankton moving about aimlessly in a dark wilderness.

But Martha had said it was true. And the Doctor. And Patanjali, though he hadn't said much.

"This is… good, right?" Jack asked, concerned with Gwen's reaction. "I mean, from where I'm standing…"

"Bloody hell," she whispered. She looked up at him and smiled. "It's brilliant."

"Congratulations, Gwen," the Doctor said, pulling his hand away from her.

"Oi, don't you stop," she shouted, grabbing his hand again and putting it to her abdomen. "You keep that thing going. This is my first moment with my child."

But it would be less than a minute before Gwen's child wasn't the one at the centre of attention anymore. Because in the midst of the controlled chaos, Leandra had got to her feet, and had begun to chant, once again, "We are coming… we are coming…" over and over and over.

"Oh. Hello," the Doctor said absently.

Everyone's eyes went wide as saucers. The Doctor carefully pulled the wand away from Gwen and handed it back to Martha. As she cleaned and replaced it and Rupesh helped Gwen clean the goo off, the Doctor knelt in front of Leandra and let her speak into his ear.

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what? The chanting? The creepy programmed repetition?" asked Jack. "Yeah, we can all hear that!"

"No, I hear it, too," Martha said. She knelt beside the Doctor and listened closely to Leandra's voice. "It's like an underlying… something… underneath her voice…"

"It's a Vox Albus," he whispered. "On a low, low frequency. Basically static. Like when you're playing the radio and the song has a thin layer of white noise underneath, it transmits the electronic pulses that come from the radio signal. Only in this case… it's not an electronic pulse, it's the voice of the alien."

"What?" Gwen asked gravely, pulling down her shirt. "That's the voice of the alien?"

"Shhh," the Doctor whispered. "Listen."

"Blimey!" Martha exclaimed after Leandra had said those three dreaded words on four more cycles. "Oh, that is creepy."

"Well, what does it mean?" Julie asked surprisingly calmly, never taking her eyes off her chanting daughter.

"It means… we have to hurry!" The Doctor grabbed the girl and headed into the morgue toward the TARDIS. Martha followed him.

"Again? Oi, you! Why… hello?" Julie protested, getting to her feet. She turned to Jack. "Why does he keep grabbing my child and taking off?"

Jack sighed. "You sort of have to know him. Just trust me. Let him do his thing. He's the only guy I know who has any chance at solving this problem, but he won't hurt anyone to do it. Ianto, can you get Mrs. Gilbert some coffee?"

"Sure," he said, guiding Julie up the stairs.

Gwen and Rupesh began putting the med bay back together, and Jack followed Martha and the Doctor into the TARDIS. The Doctor was standing on the edge of the console with a stethoscope stuck in his ears and the chestpiece pressed to the time rotor. Martha was staring at the display screen, half in a panic.

What he heard as soon as he closed the door behind him brought down the Doctor, gave Martha pause, and sent a shiver up Jack's immortal spine.

"We are coming… back!" the child announced.


	7. DAY TWO:  Part I

**I hope you find this chapter interesting. This came about as a result of several general wonderings. 1) how would the Doctor have reacted to the Scotland story? 2) how would it look if tensions ran too high in the TARDIS and the Doctor and Martha came to blows? 3) why does the Doctor save all of his mercy for Davros, the Master and Dalek Caan, while he gives Jack the glare of doom when he finds out he's Torchwood, and gets snarky with Martha once she joins UNIT? Sigh. The insufferable man. ;-)**

* * *

DAY TWO: Part I

It was just after midnight as Jack showed Leandra and Julie to his room, pointed out clean towels, then shut the door. The little girl was exhausted, and no-one could blame her.

Martha was showing Patanjali round Jack's office, his sleeping quarters for the time being, since no-one trusted him to leave, and he didn't want to be on his own anyway. Mini-fridge, TV, sofa, blanket in a drawer, private loo, don't come near the computer, lights come on automatically at five in the morning.

Ianto had just left to drive Gwen home, then had begged off to his own flat for a few hours' rest and decompression.

When Jack and Martha arrived back in the TARDIS, the Doctor was lying on the floor with his head under the console.

"Er, I've seen you looking better," she joked.

He said something muffled.

"What?" she asked.

He pulled his head out and sat up. "I said, we went about it all wrong. It has nothing to do with her physiology. It's a specified frequency. It's not something that the kids are just picking up, it's being broadcast specifically _to _them, like pay television. I mean, granted, they're plugged into the kids somehow, but probably because they already have a human child in captivity, they've had time to calibrate. Blimey, that's dark."

"Okay, so can you track the source?' Jack wanted to know.

"Well, yes," the Doctor answered, clapping and standing. "Isn't that what you keep me around for? Now, when I brought Leandra in here, the time rotor went haywire, which probably means that the signal is coming across time. And that's lucky for us, because it means some of the signal's residue is still in the heart of the TARDIS, so _voilà_, all I had to do is reroute it to the actual computer system to give us a quantifiable wavelength, rather than just some timey-wimey rubbish like…"

"Doctor," Martha reminded him.

"Sorry. So, Martha, if you would be so kind as to look at the numbers display on the digital reader beside the linear toggle, and read out the frequency to me."

She took her place, and the Doctor took his at the screen, and she said, "Nine, eight, six, one, dash, zero, one, one…"

"Wait," he said, typing in what she had said. "I'm getting something. Oh, now this narrows it down considerably. There are only a few planets that have time travel capabilities _and_ the specified frequency technology, especially on _that _frequency. My money's on the SharKann, way out in the Fringuanulum galaxy."

Martha continued to read out numbers, and then he interrupted her. "If you could just tell me the last three numbers, that ought to do it. It'll give us the main coordinates, and will correspond with data they are probably getting here on Earth. But we have the upper hand, don't we? Because I know stuff!"

"Okay," she said. "Last three numbers are… four, five, six."

"I was right. SharKann."

"Holy shit," spat Jack.

"You can say that again," the Doctor agreed. "This is very not good. Very, very."

"Why not good?" asked Martha. "Do you know what they want?"

"Yes," the Doctor told her. "They want your kids. They'll want to take them away. Permanently."

"All of them?" asked Martha.

"Not all, but…"

"Doctor," Jack whispered, his throat having gone dry. "Can you trace the time signature?"

"Do you mean, tell which time period the broadcast is coming from?" Martha wanted to know.

"Yeah," the Doctor said. "Get under the console."

Jack obeyed and then followed some quick instructions while the Doctor listened to the time rotor once more through the stethoscope. Once back on his feet, Jack asked, "Well?"

"Nineteen… sixty four? No, sixty five. The signal is strong – just forty-five years' transmission. Forty-five years three months, six days, one hour and twelve minutes. Well, give or take." The Doctor jumped back down onto the metal grate floor.

Jack's face went pale, pale enough for Martha to grab onto his arm instinctively and ask if he was all right. He staggered a few steps backward and leaned against one of the railings.

"Doctor, Martha," he gulped. "I need to tell you something."

* * *

It took Jack just five minutes to relate the story of what he'd done in Scotland, in early March of 1965. A dozen children was all they'd wanted, and Torchwood – no, Jack himself – had given them up. Marched them out into the cold and told them to keep walking…

The never-shy Captain kept his eyes on the metal floor, and his arms clasped tightly in front of him. He was afraid to look up and see the thing that he most dreaded seeing: disapproval from the Doctor.

But the console room had been eerily quiet for what felt like ages (probably less than a minute), and he had to move or speak or do something.

So he looked up. The Doctor was not looking at him disapprovingly. In fact, the Doctor didn't seem able to look at him at all.

"Would one of you please say something?" Martha asked quietly.

"Why, Jack?" the Doctor asked, practically growled from the depths of his lungs.

"Because I was told to," Jack said.

"Rubbish."

"I know, I know," Jack insisted. "But I was a different man then. I didn't have you, I didn't have my team…"

"Stop it," the Doctor ordered. "Just stop." He still had not looked at Jack.

"This whole thing is my fault," Jack said. "I realise that. I will flog myself later. But did I give you _anything_ just now that will help you help us defeat them?"

"What did they tell you it was for?" Martha wanted to know. "I mean, if an alien race said, _send me twelve kids_, and the British government said, _sure, why not? _there must have been a mighty good reason."

"They didn't give a reason," Jack said.

"They didn't need to. All they wanted to know was whether Great Britain is an easy target," the Doctor said, teeth clenched. "Whether they could get you to do what they wanted without giving you anything in return, including any information. Didn't they? And you showed them that you _are _an easy target, Jack. On behalf of the crown of Great Britain, you gifted hostile aliens with the most precious resource on this planet, and rationalised it by saying no-one would miss them."

Now, he was shouting, pacing. It was a fully-fledge rant. "1965, a world still living in paranoia! They ask, and Torchwood, the royal institution in its _infinite_ wisdom delivers. So what the hell? Hop forward forty-five years, scare the pants off the populace of the planet and ask for something undoubtedly bigger! Probably they needed to negotiate in a time when the human race has the technology to accommodate them, so you can bet they've designated a rendez-vous point, and you can bet it's in this country. Probably in bloody London, just like everything else that goes wrong on this little planet!"

"Doctor!" Martha exclaimed. "Get hold of yourself, please."

He looked at her apologetically, then shifted his gaze to Jack. "All the kids are speaking English. Britain is playing host to a hostile alien attack and all the children of the Earth are in danger, and it's all falling into place. It's _your_ fault. You. Hurricane Jack!" Again with the shouting.

Jack pulled his hand down over his face and breathed, "God, no wonder they want me dead. I could blow the top off this whole thing – tell the world what the government did!"

"Yes, but you're not going to," the Doctor said. "You're going to follow my orders to the letter, yeah? You don't so much as _speak _to anyone outside this facility until I tell you to."

Jack gazed back at him, anger now bubbling beneath the surface. He didn't mind being subordinate to the Doctor most of the time, but he certainly didn't appreciate being treated like a loose cannon. "This is my planet, Doctor…"

"Wrong," the Doctor shot back. "You lost the right to make decisions for it in Scotland in 1965. You called for my help, and now, it's _my_ planet."

"Erm, excuse me," Martha interjected. "Whose planet is it, now? Because correct me if I'm wrong, but there are three of us in this room, and four beating hearts. By my count, that means one of us has one too many, and it's not me or Jack. So if Jack's lost his right, then exactly which one of us has claim on the Earth?"

The Doctor's gaze snapped to Martha's indignant face, and his eyes went wide. He had to stop himself telling her to butt out. He wanted to ask her if _she _wanted to take over the operation from here, because he'd be more than happy to leave them all alone. But he couldn't, because she knew him too well. She'd shoot back that she'd save the Earth before, she could do it again (she'd be right) and that he was bluffing anyway (she'd be right). Anyway, he couldn't afford to incur her wrath just now. Or ever, really. Especially not over some adolescent grandstanding. He might as well say he's rubber and she's glue.

"Martha," he breathed. "Please don't."

"Jack, what were your orders, exactly? Just to turn them over?" she wanted to know. "Or only do it if there was a threat? Like, did you have to go and negotiate or something?"

"He just told us! He loaded twelve kids onto a bus, drove them out to the arsehole of nowhere, and told them it was safe!" shouted the Doctor.

Martha looked at him with venomous, narrowed eyes. "I don't believe I was speaking to you. We've let you speak for our planet before, but not for your friends."

Jack gestured to the Doctor. "You heard the man. Those were my orders."

The Doctor went for the guilt. "The Jack I know would _not_ have followed orders like that, not for anything! The Jack I know is better than that."

"The Jack you know wasn't around then, Doctor," Jack protested. "I've tried to tell you that. He was lost in time!"

"But Torchwood must have had its reasons," Martha said to both of them. "What did they tell you?"

"Orders, Martha," the Doctor said silkily. "No time for questions, am I right, Captain?"

"Again, Doctor," she said. "I was asking Jack, not you."

"Doctor, you're not being fair," Jack said. "There are other factors at work."

"The world is not divided up between good or bad, right or wrong," she said to the Doctor.

"You're starting to sound like a government drone now, too," he snapped at her. "Any justification for getting its way."

"If anyone taught me that, it's you!" she shouted. "You are the king of grey-area! The champion of moral ambiguity! And _even you_ can't possibly know what it was like that night, or in any of the days leading up to it, so, Doctor, perhaps you need to back off a bit."

"Martha Jones, I thought I knew you."

"Oh, I see. So if I'm not quoting from the Gospel of the Doctor, then I can't possibly be in-the-know," she said. She had never felt this way toward him before. It didn't feel good.

"You two, listen to yourselves!" the Doctor shouted. "We're talking about _children_. Nearly two _billion_ human children all coming under fire from a hostile alien race, and you're…"

"What? Blogging?" Martha asked, going back to the last time she and Jack were patronised by the Doctor for being petty.

"No! Making excuses! There is _no_ excuse for this, Martha, Jack."

There was a terrible silence as the three of them looked at each other, their eyes shifting from one agitated, angry face to the next. The state of things here was frightening. On the one hand, Jack and Martha both hated defying the Doctor, and didn't want to do anything to disappoint him. On the other hand, they felt he was being judgmental without all the facts, and they genuinely felt they were right, at least a little bit. And the pig-headed Time Lord just wasn't listening. He could be haughty at times, overly moralistic, and neither of them could quite believe it had come to this: a shouting match in the TARDIS, the Doctor versus his companions. Self-doubt plagued them both, because after all, if the Doctor disapproved, then what had they become?

But no. Not even Time Lords are always right.

"I have something to say to you, Doctor," Martha said. She went toe-to-toe with the tall man in the suit, the one she'd loved so hard, and for so long, and had rarely ever questioned. In a low voice, almost a whisper, she said, "You give amnesty to killers, save ruthless, soulless beings from genocide. I've seen you try to rescue a criminally insane dictator, the creator of the beings that _killed your planet and race_, from a fiery death. You showed mercy to people who had scooped out the guts of a living sun, and you wept over the dead body of your most vicious arch-enemy. That man had ravaged this planet, _your_ planet, as you call it, this Earth that you act like you love… and yet, when it's one of us, one of your friends, someone who loves you... when we screw up, you can't even find it within yourself to give him the benefit of the doubt?"

The Doctor stared into Martha's face for a long time. She didn't flinch. She no longer displayed anger, it was more the supplication of a friend. But ultimately, he was convinced it didn't matter.

"What I think is not important," the Doctor said. "My forgiveness will not make the SharKann go away, so we might as well stop quibbling over it."

"I'd like to have it, anyway," Jack croaked. His throat had gone dry again.

"As I said, it's unimportant."

Jack clenched his fists at his sides, his face turned red and his whole being shook. Suddenly, he was stomping down the TARDIS ramp, then slamming the door shut behind him.

Once again, silence reigned in the air of the console room, until Martha asked, "Is my room still the way I left it?"

"Yeah."

"That's where I'll be. I'll see you in the morning." She began to walk steadily toward the archway leading to the TARDIS' inner corridors, her boots clanking forcefully upon the floor.

"Martha, wait," he said.

She stopped, her back toward him. She bowed her head. "Doctor, I'm exhausted."

"I am too," he said, putting his hands somewhat shyly in his pocket, taking three steps toward her. "But we've never parted ways like this. I don't think you should go to bed angry."

She turned and looked at him. "What about Jack?"

He sighed. "He's not here anymore."

"Well, it's not like he went to Guam," she said. "He's just outside that door, if you want to go patch things up."

"Martha," he said. "I can handle Jack angry with me. I cannot handle you."

She crossed her arms and tried not to let her heart melt. "Well, good. Because I _am_ angry. How can you say _I forgive you_ to the Master, and not to Jack?"

"Because I expect better from Jack," he said. "The Master was always a prat, but Jack..."

"We all make mistakes," she whispered, closing the gap between them. She put her palm flat against his lapel. "Even you."

He broke eye contact, and just exhaled through pursed lips. He moved slowly over to the navigator's seat, and sat.

She trudged her own way over to the console, and leaned against it to look at him. "What's in there?" she asked, referring to his head.

"A mess."

"A mess?"

"Yes, a bloody mess. I hate that you feel like this." He was calm, but she could see pain behind the eyes.

"I hate that I feel like this too!" she exclaimed.

"So tell me how to fix it. I don't want you to be angry with me. If you need me to apologise to Jack, I will."

"I'd like that, but... I can't just _stop _being angry," she said. "It doesn't just go away, Doctor. It has to ebb. It needs time. It will be gone when I wake up, most likely. It's already starting to fade, partly because I know that _your_ anger is fading."

He looked at his feet. "Yeah."

"Quite apart from trying to make me happy, don't you feel just a little bit sorry about what you said to Jack?"

He looked at her quite seriously now, and said, "Yep. I do."

"I could tell. And it's good. You'll pass for human yet."

He chuckled. "Thanks for that." Then, he gulped and said, "I'm sorry, Martha. I'm sorry that I treat you like a child sometimes."

She took two steps toward him and did something she had never done. She put her arms around his shoulders of her own volition, and pulled him toward her. He wrapped his arms around her middle and laid his head on her shoulder. "Well, I must seem like one to you from time to time. All of us must," she told him.

"Not you," he said. "Never you."

"Thanks," she whispered. "And we're sorry that we're constantly putting the weight of our world on your shoulders."

"I'm happy to bear the weight," he said. "Most of the time."

Another silence fell as Martha tipped her face forward and kissed his forehead. They remained this way for another minute, until all was forgotten and shattered by a sudden in-burst of Jack.

"You two! Gwen just phoned. When they couldn't kill me, they attacked her husband."


	8. DAY TWO: Part II

DAY TWO: Part II

Captain Jack Harkness and Dr. Martha Jones stood in the cold, shut-down centre of Torchwood's hub, and argued a bit. Dr. Rupesh Patanjali stood nearby and watched with a mixture of nerves and confusion.

"Jack, you're being an idiot," she said, switching her weight to one hip, and crossing her arms. "The minute you set foot in there you'll be killed! It's what they want! Why the hell else would they take Gwen's husband hostage?"

"So they kill me! So what? Let them! Let them think they've got me. Maybe it'll make them stand down, and buy Gwen time to get him out of there!"

"You don't think they'll have backup?" Martha asked. "Trust me, Jack. I work for a paramilitary organisation. If they think you're a national security risk and they've done something as heinous as holding a civilian hostage in order to get to his wife's boss, then there's no way they've gone in with anything less than a bloody battalion! Gwen is a lot of things – including pregnant, let's not forget – but she's not twenty men. You need us. Scratch that. You need the Doctor."

"No freaking way, Martha," Jack said. "Rhys can handle himself and so can Gwen. They can give these people the slip, especially if they're all distracted with whatever they think they can do to me. If too many of us go, it'll be chaos…"

"Er, Jack?" Rupesh said quietly.

"Jack, listen to me very closely," she said, clasping her hands in front of her like a schoolteacher. She spoke exaggeratedly slowly. "They are the military, and this is a trap."

"I know!"

"You'll be shot by a sniper from fifty yards away," she all but shouted. "You'll be out cold and helpless before you even know what hit you. And chances are, after that, they'll kill Rhys and Gwen and burn the bodies, because it's you they want."

"Oi," Rupesh tried again.

Martha ignored him and continued. "Your only hope is to let the Doctor materialise the TARDIS inside, _then_ go in..."

"Out of the question," the Doctor's voice rang out. More accurately, it was suddenly there, in the room with them, along with the Doctor himself. He suddenly stepped off the platform that came down the side of the water tower from above in Roald Dahl Plass, and strode up the ramps to where his friends stood. They had not seen the platform come down, nor heard the trapdoor open, nor any of the machinery that operates it.

"Whoa, where'd you come from?" Martha said, jumping back from him, startled.

"Above," he said, eyes wide, mouth slack, finger pointing up.

"What the hell did you do?" asked Jack.

"I dialled up the perception filters on the entrances to this joint," the Doctor said.

"Why?"

"I reckon if they're desperate enough to hold an innocent lorry driver at gunpoint, then this facility just might need a bit of extra protection."

"Well, I'll be reminding you to reverse that enhancement when this is over," Jack said. "'Cause what you just did is plain creepy."

"You kept my severed hand pickled in a jar for almost two years, carried it about in your backpack, Captain," the Doctor pointed out. "And I'm the creepy one?"

"Point is," Jack said. "You're not coming. Either of you."

"Actually the point is," the Doctor corrected. "We're not coming in the TARDIS. I'm not putting a space-travelling time machine into the hands of some militant government shoot-em-ups."

"Good. Thank you," Jack said, gesturing emphatically.

"But we _are_ coming," he assured Jack.

"No, you're not."

"Guys!" Rupesh shouted. The three of them looked at him, scowling. "Sorry. It's just… Jack, they know you can come back to life. They want to put a bomb inside you."

"Inside _me?_" Jack asked. Rupesh swallowed hard, and nodded.

"Of course they do," the Doctor muttered. "They know it'll tear you apart, they think it might actually kill you dead."

"And I just think," Rupesh advised nervously. "That… well… the thing is, if you explode, then whatever building you're in will explode, too. Probably several buildings, inhabited, unstable…"

"Good man," the Doctor said, slapping Rupesh on the back. "See? What did you ever do without us doctors on the roster, Jack? Blimey, no wonder you lot need me. If you'd gone to that hospital all by your lonesome, all guns a-blazin', you'd have got a bomb in your belly and blown up your own base of operations! And possibly Gwen and Ianto too. Rupesh, let's face it, would have got a bullet in his back by now…"

"What?" Rupesh asked, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, come on, kid, those people had you locked."

"Nah…"

"They used you!" the Doctor shouted.

Rupesh sighed, nodded.

"You'd never have seen it coming until too late. Not really your fault, I must admit," the Doctor counselled. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and began to circle the computer terminals like they were his own console. "And what's worse is that you'd all be in the dark about who's on the other end of this very disturbing children's show until, well… until they wanted you to know. And probably some poor kid would have had to die, because if the SharKann have set up a rendezvous with the British government, then it would only be a matter of time until you lot worked out that you can use children as an amplifier to reverberate a harmful frequency back to them, using one child as a transmitter, except that one child would die… but hey, the ends justifies the means, right Jack? Well, thank goodness it didn't come down to sacrificing children. Now that would just be too much."

The Doctor stood and stared meaningfully, inquisitively at Jack, while Jack miserably stared back. Martha sighed, seeing that the feud wasn't over. Hadn't she and the Doctor _just_ talked about this?

For his part, the Captain would have liked very much to tell the Doctor off right now, but he thought better of it.

"Doctor," he whispered. "I think we should concentrate on bringing our friends out of danger, don't you?"

"Yes," answered the Time Lord. "Quite right. And I think I should be the one to do it."

"Like hell. You'll go in there and surrender, talk them to death and try to _help _them…"

"So you'd prefer to run in shooting," the Doctor sighed. "How very Torchwood of you."

"Look, you're the guy who can handle the giant, intergalactic, end-of-the-universe crap," Jack said, one finger pointing straight at the Doctor's face. "But gun-toting government goons? That my turf! I called you in on the SharKann thing, but when it comes to rescuing my people…"

"Okay, enough," Martha said, now stepping between them, taking Jack's pointing finger and pushing it down. "I'm sick of you both. Just… shut up. We're not doing it the Torchwood way, and we're not doing it the Time Lord way. You both need a good hosing-off, which would be mightily fun to watch, granted, but we don't have time right now. So until further notice, I'm the brains of this outfit, and you two are going to listen to me, and like it."

"Thank God," Rupesh said. "Ready for orders, ma'am."

* * *

Whoever these people were, they had bloody good technology. After looking into the window and seeing the situation Rhys was in, Gwen had tried to hide outside her flat, join the cavalry when it arrived and give the lizard woman and her little army a good shock going in. But they'd detected her somehow. Infrared scopes? Metasigma Folian Heartbeat detectors? Tosh would know…

So now, she found herself seated on her own sofa, next to her own husband, a hostage in her own home. Three guards, plus the lizard woman, were all inside the house. Each one was armed with an automatic weapon, a scary uniform and _zero_ sense of humour.

The woman was on a mobile phone asking for more backup, further units to deploy, searching for "Target Number One."

"What do these fuckers want?" asked Rhys under his breath, as the guards paced about.

"Jack," Gwen whispered back. "They want Jack."

"So why me?"

"Chain of command," she told him. "They mess with you, they have to deal with me. They mess with me, they have to deal with Jack."

"Who the hell are they?"

"Government."

"What?" he asked, a little too loudly.

"Shhh!" she warned.

The lizard woman turned and stared holes through them. "Whatever you two are whispering about, you can save it, yeah? You're most likely both going to die tonight, so if I were you, I'd spend this time in togetherness."

She turned back to her phone call and began giving a description to the person on the other end. "About six feet tall, dark hair, American accent. He'll be wearing long coat, like a trench coat. No, navy blue, military-issue. Like a pea coat, one of those circa World War II things. Yep. Thanks." She shut her phone.

"Can't you, you know?" Rhys asked.

"What?"

"You _know!_ _Bang, bang, battle cry, let's get the hell out of here_?"

"They took my guns, Rhys," she said. "I'm not trying anything until the others get here."

* * *

The Doctor and Martha hurried through the streets of Cardiff in silence. One block back, Jack and Rupesh had separated from them, according to the plan. In his breast pocket, he carried the sonic screwdriver, and one of Torchwood's impossibly powerful, collapsible pairs of binoculars. In her pocket, she carried psychic paper. She had left her real credentials behind at the hospital, and anyway, she wasn't sure these people would respond to her UNIT badge anyhow, no matter how senior an officer she was.

"Oi," the Doctor said, walking half a step behind her. "You okay?"

"Yep," she answered. "I just want to get this done, so we can concentrate on dispensing with the SharKann, and then we can all go back to our lives."

"Look, I understand why you felt you had to take over…"

"Oh, do you?" she asked sarcastically. "Gee, I'm so glad! I thought maybe I'd _crossed the line!_"

The Doctor followed her silently for a minute, then said, "I only crossed the line because he did."

"Yeah, I know," she said, still moving briskly. "I get that. I do, all right? But I thought that just maybe, since we've got bigger things on our minds right now, that perhaps you and Jack could just put your damn pissing contest aside, and concentrate on… oh, I don't know… _saving the Earth?_"

"Martha, it's not that simple…"

"Yes, it is," she said, stopping finally. She stared at him properly now. "An hour ago, you said you were sorry for how you'd treated him, and that you'd even apologise if I wanted you to. Then you go and shove it down his throat again! What was all that rubbish about sacrificing children?"

"He wanted to barge in there all alone like an idiot, and it was a monumentally stupid idea, and I was on a rant," he shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry I said, it Martha, but face it. He's done it before, he could do it again."

"Jack Harkness, sacrifice an innocent child? I can't see it."

"Well, I'm glad that you see the good in everyone," he said. "Because I just can't un-see the bad sometimes, especially in my friends. It's there, like a taint. Once you put black in a bucket of white paint, you'll never have white again."

She smiled bitterly. "And I shall now use _your_ metaphor to point out once more that you, sir, are the King of grey."

"Yeah, I know. I have to be – there's no-one else to take the reins, Martha. I've come to expect that from myself – it's the way life has to be for me."

"Well, get ready to expect it from Jack."

"What?"

"You accusing him of things…" she said, then stopped. Her eyes were wide and intense, and her mouth had suddenly gone hard and pursed. "You're just… you're just making things worse."

"He needs to see…"

"He already sees, Doctor! He's not an idiot, he sees! And when someone starts accusing you of something…" she said, her voice beginning to break, her breathing growing heavy. "…when someone _insists_ that you are tainted, as you say, _knows_ that you are dirty and wrong and wanton… even if you know different…"

He waited. She was mightily upset about something, and he was now beginning to think that this argument was no longer about what Jack may or may not do, or have done.

"What, Martha?"

"…even if you know different, you start to _wish_ they were right. You start to think you might as well wear the mantle, because if they're going to think it, no matter what you say, then screw it, you might as well make it the truth."

The Doctor sighed heavily and shuffled his feet a bit.

"We have to move," Martha said flatly, continuing to walk brusquely along a backstreet, on the way to Gwen and Rhys' flat.

"You think I'm turning him into a killer," the Doctor said, just as much to himself as to Martha.

"I just know that he cares what you think of him," she said, still walking, not looking at him. "He cares _a lot. _And if he thinks that you see him as a killer, he'll just wallow in self-pity until he starts to believe it. Either that, or he'll give up and realise that you're never going to believe him, so why not just…"

"Wear the mantle?" the Doctor asked.

"Let's just hurry, okay?"

* * *

They came up to the final corner before Gwen and Rhys' corner, and they could see the government-issue SUV, similar to the one issued to Torchwood parked at the end of the block. An earnest-looking guard stood by, and the Doctor and Martha didn't want to get any closer. They ducked behind a red Mini-Cooper and the Doctor extracted the super binoculars.

"Can you see it?" Martha whispered.

"Yep," he said.

"Can you do it?"

He scoffed. "Please!"

"How long will we have?"

"About five seconds."

"Okay," she said. "Here goes nothing."

"Be careful," he said, squeezing her hand.

She smiled nervously, and stood, approaching the guard with authority. "Excuse me, what's the meaning of this?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "Meaning of what?"

She scowled, and showed the psychic paper. "I'm from the Ministry of Defence, soldier, and you will not _shrug_ at me, are we clear?"

He stood up straight. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."

"That's better."

* * *

Inside the flat, Gwen heard the lizard woman's radio crackle. "Er, Johnson, we have a problem."

"What is it?" she said into her Bluetooth-like earpiece.

"Ministry of Defence," a voice said. "They're here."

"Shit," she spat. "Well, get rid of them!"

"No way," the voice protested. "Not worth my job. Ma'am."

"Just tell them we're special ops!"

"I did that," he said. "She won't go away."

The lizard woman cursed again. "Fine. Outside. Everyone. Even them," she announced, pointing at Gwen and Rhys.

One thug took each of them by the arms, handcuffed them, and pushed them outside, where a congregation of five soldiers became nine, and Martha Jones stood on the pavement, tapping her foot, looking frightening and pissed off.

"Agent Johnson," she shouted. "You have violated Protocol seventeen, section eight of…"

As Martha vamped at the lizard woman with Ministry of Defence rubbish she'd had to learn upon becoming a UNIT officer, Gwen spotted something across the street. She nudged Rhys with an elbow, quite subtly, and pointed with her chin. A tall man was moving in the shadows of the building opposite, his long tan coat and spiky hair making him unmistakable.

Rhys shrugged at Gwen.

"It's the Doctor," she mouthed.

"Who's that?"

Gwen just smiled.

The man across the street seemed to pull something from the pocket inside his coat, and aim it at the SUV on the corner. With that, a high-pitched screech rung out, and all of the soldiers around them went to their knees in pain as the sonic screwdriver saw to a horrible screech feeding back through all of the Bluetooth radios. As their cries filled the air, Martha motioned with a nod of her head to move toward the corner, where the SUV was parked, and she began to run.

Gwen and Rhys ran behind her and ducked back behind the building. They were out of sight when they heard Agent Johnson scream out, "It's coming from over there! Open fire!"

The high-pitched wailing had stopped, and all of the soldiers were on their feet. All nine of them opened fire and as Martha, Rhys and Gwen watched, they riddled the Doctor with bullets. He twitched like mad and fell ungracefully against the building behind him, finally slumping onto the pavement and into the shadows.


	9. DAY TWO:  Part III

DAY TWO: Part III

Gwen gasped in horror, and instinctively, she tried to pull her hands up to cup her mouth. She was, however handcuffed, so she only succeeded in doubling half-over, and opening her mouth so wide it hurt. No scream escaped, though, only a throaty, raspy, "Martha! Martha! Oh God… Oh God…"

"Shhh," Martha said, taking Gwen by the shoulders.

Suddenly, a flutter of something flew off the roof and landed on the pavement nearby. All of the soldiers watched it fall, and realised that it was Jack's blue pea coat.

"That's Harkness," Johnson said harshly. "The roof, go!"

"What about Target Number Two, and the bloke?"

"Doesn't matter, genius, we want Harkness first, now go!"

They all piled back into the building and headed for the roof.

Meanwhile, Gwen was gasping for air, and squeaking Martha's name. They had all just seen the Doctor go down like Bonnie and Clyde, and she thought Martha must be screaming bloody murder on the inside.

"Calm down, Gwen," Rhys snapped. "They'll hear you!"

Martha put one hand over Gwen's mouth, and looked into her enormous, shocked eyes. "It's fine," Martha said. She took her hand slowly away.

"Fine? How is it fine?"

Martha smiled. "Do you think I'd be this calm if that was really the Doctor?"

"Hello," the Doctor's voice said from behind them. Gwen let out a little shriek and rounded on him. He was wearing his suit, but not his tan trench coat. He calmly sonicked both sets of cuffs open and off, while Gwen stared at him, quivering, eyes still like saucers.

"Wha…"

"We'll explain," he said. "Just get in the car."

"What car?"

Patanjali came peeling around the corner in a silver Saab, and power-unlocked the doors. Rhys got in front, while the Doctor piled in the back with Gwen and Martha.

The car moved too fast for its own good after that, as the team made its way back to the Torchwood hub. "Rhys Williams, meet Dr. Rupesh Patanjali," Martha said.

"Hi," Rhys said.

"Good to meet you," Rupesh said. "And nice car, mate."

"Thanks," Rhys said. "Nice driving."

"And this is the Doctor," Martha said.

"Hi," Rhys repeated, shaking the Doctor's hand. He looked at Gwen. "Sorry, but… who are these people?"

"No, first things first," Gwen interrupted. "Where's Jack?"

"If he knows what's good for him, he'll be having the blood dry-cleaned out of my coat, and the bullet holes mended," the Doctor said.

"Oh! What was that thing he fired at the car, to make the Bluetooths go off?" she asked.

"Ah, well, that was me," the Doctor said. "Jack just had a mag-lite. We timed it to make it look like he did it."

"Did you want them to think he was you?"

"No," the Doctor said, matter-of-factly. "They don't really know me. Martha just reckoned that if Jack wore a coat that definitely wasn't his usual coat, they wouldn't think it was him. Just a distraction is all."

"And the roof," Gwen said. "Was that you, Rupesh?"

"Yep," he said.

"And the car keys?" asked Rhys.

"The Doctor showed me how to hot-wire before we came here," he confessed. "Sorry."

"It's all right," Rhys said, smiling. "Just glad you lot showed up!"

* * *

It was nearly three in the morning by the time they arrived back at the hub, and they found that Ianto had made it back as well. Martha had told Jack to call him in to look after Julie and Leandra, just in case they awoke and needed something. It wouldn't exactly be the most comforting thing to wake up in the Torchwood hub and find yourself alone.

"Everything okay?" Ianto asked as they entered. He couldn't hide the worry in his voice. "Where's Jack?"

"Ianto, you know he'll be fine," Martha said. "He got shot about twenty-seven times, but he'll be round soon. Just relax."

He nodded reluctantly like a child, and began handing each person a cup of coffee, whether they wanted it or not. He and Gwen, Rhys and Rupesh all headed down to the conference room. Martha and the Doctor took up the rear.

Everyone sat down, except Martha. She stood in the doorway and said, "You know what? I was exhausted _before_ we knew we had to come rescue these two. I think I'm going to go try to get some rest. Thanks for the coffee, Ianto." She gently set the mug down on the table. Everyone said good night to her, and she turned and headed back toward the morgue, where the TARDIS was.

The Doctor said good night to everyone as well, set his mug down beside hers, and followed her out.

"I thought she was engaged to someone called Tom," Rhys said, after they'd left.

"She was," Gwen sighed. "No-one knows what happened."

"Hm," he said. "Seems she's better off with this one anyway."

* * *

The Doctor shut the TARDIS door and locked it.

"You didn't have to come," Martha said, turning and squeezing his hand. "You could have stayed and chatted, I wouldn't have minded."

"You can say a lot of things about me, Martha Jones," he said. "But never will you say I'm a bad host."

She smiled. "That is true."

"Let me show you to your room, Madame," he said offering his arm. She took it.

As they walked slowly down the hall toward her old bedroom, she laid her head on his shoulder. He was surprised. He looked over at her, tried to see her face, but she was too short, and she was looking down.

"Martha?" he asked.

"Mm?"

"Are we okay?"

"I suppose," she told him. "I'm sorry I was such a bitch earlier."

"You weren't. And if you were, it wasn't without good reason."

"Still," she sighed.

They reached the door, and stopped. They unlinked their arms and looked at each other.

"Well, I think when this is over, you and Jack and I are going to need couples' therapy or something," he joked. "It's clear that our relationship is suffering."

"True," she agreed. "And I'm not ready to give up on us just yet."

He smiled. "Good. Nighty, night, Martha."

"Good night, Doctor," she said. She stepped forward and stood on her tiptoes. He leaned his cheek down and she kissed it. The little gesture seemed to make them both rather unduly happy, though, and when she turned to open her bedroom door, she was blushing like a tomato.

But when the door opened, the mood died.

"Ah, blimey!" the Doctor shouted in response to the giant buzzing sound coming from inside.

Martha reached in and switched on the light. Inside the familiar old room, there seemed to be thousands of dragonflies. She laughed. "What the hell?"

"They're Mouchelessers," he said. "Fluttery little bastards from the planet Horkul Seven. Harmless, but annoying, and I forgot about them."

She shut off the light and pulled the door shut. "Well, have you got another room?"

"Of course," he sighed. Then he looked up, seemingly at the ceiling. "Really?" he seemed to ask it. "Infinite space, infinite rooms, and when I ask you to store six thousand Mouchelessers, you choose _that _room, of all rooms? Perhaps you and I need some counselling as well, eh?"

A great groan filled the air, as the TARDIS seemed either apologise for her transgression, or tell the Doctor to go jump in a lake. Whatever it was, the Doctor rolled his eyes and said, "I know where you'd like to sleep! Follow me."

He took her hand, and they followed a few more corridors until coming to a pair of double doors. The Doctor fluttered his eyebrows at her and they went inside.

"Wow," Martha exclaimed, looking up. "That's cool!"

"I know," he said, adjusting the lights so that the starry sky overhead could be perfectly seen.

"What is it?" she asked. "I mean, where is it?"

"It's here," he told her. "That's the sky above Cardiff, where we are right now. It's a filtered viewer. It can see through all the concrete and Earth and pavement that's above us, since we're underground, and show us the sky overhead. It can even filter out the pollution."

"Wow," she repeated. She looked around the room. It was bordered with solid marble floor, a strip eighteen inches wide, the material that seemed to floor most of the rest of the TARDIS. But the floor of the centre of the room seemed to be made of soft, multi-coloured foam cushions.

She kicked off her shoes and stepped out onto it, approached the middle, and lay down on her back. She smiled with amazement, gazing up at the stars. The Doctor disappeared through a narrow door for a few minutes, and he emerged with a couple of pillows and a blanket. "I feel like pitching a tent," she told him.

"Nah," she heard him say. She also heard his trainers thud upon the marble as he took them off. She felt the cushions beneath her moving as he made his way toward her. He tossed the pillows and blaket down near her, and lay down beside her. He said, "Then we couldn't see."

For a long time, they stayed like that, each mentally noticing constellations, both recognised patterns and designs all their own.

Finally, Martha took a deep, deep breath and said, "Tom found my TARDIS key."

The Doctor looked at her, surprised again, and asked, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. In the drawer with my knickers."

The Doctor chuckled. "Interesting place to put it."

"That's what he thought," she told him, still staring at the stars. Her voice was musical and even, like she was in a trance. "It was something close to my heart, you know, a little piece of you. I thought no-one would find it in that drawer, but I'd know it was there, and I'd see it every single day. And I did. I saw it every time I opened that drawer. At first, it hurt, you know, like… reminder of a loss. I loved you, but you weren't there anymore. But it helped me get past it, because the more I'd think about you, the more I'd think about how much I loved you and how much it hurt to be away from you, the more I'd realise that it hurt just as much being _with _you. And then I would know that I made the right choice. I would look at my life and count my blessings. Career, family, fiancé, friends… I was lucky, and better for it. Until, one day, I saw it in that drawer and knew that the key was no longer a reminder of something gone, but how lucky I was to have had it. And that's how I knew I was over you."

Something in his hearts went sick, and he wasn't entirely sure why. He had a good idea why, but he couldn't decide if it was the guilt for the past, or the pain for the present.

"I learned a lot from that year with you, and that long year without you," she continued. "And I don't believe in burying or denying feelings anymore. Even if they hurt, let them hurt. Sometimes it's supposed to hurt. I look back and wonder… if I'd told you how I felt early-on, and you'd rejected me… I feel like I could have moved through my feelings more quickly and been able to be a better friend to you, and stay with you much longer. I don't know if that makes any sense to you, but it makes perfect sense to me now. I think I made myself miserable by trying to hide it from you, deny it within myself, or whatever I was doing. I was living in limbo, when I should have just accepted it as heaven or hell, whatever may come."

"It _does_ make sense to me," he told her. He wasn't sure what any of this had to do with Tom finding her TARDIS key, but he resolved just to let her speak.

"Tom, I'd told him about you, told him everything. How I felt about you, how you felt about me. I told him about how you'd kissed me in the hospital, then introduced me to Shakespeare, how we posed as a married couple and shared a bed for several months in 1969. I told him the history – nine hundred years old, big war, Rose comes in, Rose departs… and I knew he was uncomfortable hearing about how much I loved you, but like I said, I stopped believing in mincing feelings. I knew I'd get over it, and he would too.

"And when he found that key, he knew immediately what it must be, and he wanted to know why I kept it with my underwear. He said he thought it was like a symbol… a key goes in a slot, and there it was, next to my intimates. Of course I told him he was being ridiculous, and actually tried to explain how the key was helping me get over you, but…" she sighed heavily. "Oh, Doctor."

Unexpectedly, she rolled over to her left and he found himself with her head resting on his chest. She could hear the dual heartbeat, and she rested her hand on his stomach, toying with the buttons of his suit coat. He pulled his right hand from behind his head and rested it on her shoulder. He stroked her absently, as he tried to imagine what she might say next.

"That happened just before Christmas," she went on, after a long, long break. "He became suddenly quite convinced that I hadn't told him everything about my relationship with you. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Yes," the Doctor said. "But why should it matter? Everyone's got an ex."

"Because he thought I had been lying to him," she said. "Because if I had nothing to hide, I'd have told him the truth. Of course, everything I had told him _was_ the truth, and I omitted very few personal details. But he wasn't going to believe me. It was a pretty terrible night. He said some right nasty things to me, about me, about you."

The Doctor resisted the urge to ask, "Like what?"

"Understand, at that point, I had seen you a few times _since_ we'd got engaged."

"Oh. I get it," the Doctor sighed.

"Mm-hm," she told him. "He stopped short of saying that the Sontarans and Daleks were a ruse so that you could come to Earth and pop in at my flat for a shag, but I swear it was on the tip of his tongue. The next day, he apologised for some of the nastier thing he'd said, and for handling the whole thing in rather an immature fashion. But I noticed that he didn't apologise for the accusations themselves, or say that he no longer believed them.

"You didn't fall for it, did you? Try to apologise or anything?"

"Of course not. Nothing to apologise for. But what I did do…"

There was a pause

"Yes? What you did do?"

She propped herself up on one arm and looked at him. "Well, I didn't, really. What I _wanted_ to do was call you."

"You should have."

"I thought you were with Rose."

"So? She'd have been there for you, too," he said.

"I didn't want _her_ to be there for me. I wanted _you_ to be there for me."

"You know I would have been."

"And how could you have helped?"

"I don't know," he said. "Consoling, commiseration. Just someone to talk to."

"Yeah," she said, and smiled. "That's why I didn't call."

"You didn't want consoling?"

"I didn't want to _talk_," she told him. She was smiling in a way that let him know he was missing something. "And that, my friend, was all that you and I ever did. Apart from running a lot."

"What's wrong with talking?"

"Nothing," she said. "When no-one wants more."

He cocked his head sideways and said, "I thought you said you were over it by then."

"I was, basically. But do you remember what I said earlier about how, as long as someone's going to think you've done something bad, you start to wish you _had_?"

In lieu of an answer, he exhaled long, and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he'd broken contact with Martha's eyes. She moved to lay on her side, resting her head in her hand, propped on her elbow. She waited for him to process, then work out what he'd say next.

He finally shifted his eyes to hers. "Do you see?" she asked.

"I see," he said.

"And that would have put me right back where I started," she said. "Wanting something from you, and not being able to have it."

He turned to lay on his side, propping up on an elbow. His eyes were hard, and he whispered, "You should have called."

Her eyes widened a little. His left hand was his free hand, and he rested it on her cheek, cradling her jawbone between his middle and index fingers. He leaned in to kiss her, and she let him. Of course she did.

And her head swam with memories. The million times when she'd thought about their first kiss and clung to it like a lifeline. The hundred thousand instances when he'd moved, or spoken or cocked his eyebrow or moved his lips in a way that made her think she'd melt into a puddle straight away. The constant burning she'd harboured for _this moment, _and the constant disappointment. This, however, was not a disappointment. Her exhausted body suddenly felt alive and tingly again. When he let out a little moan against her mouth, then gently pushed is tongue inside, she wondered if she'd die from the heat.

He pulled away and looked at her with those brown eyes, and there it was. God help her, it was back. Familiar and true, but aggravating and excruciating.

The Doctor and Martha Jones together again. Hello, angst.

She cursed inwardly even as she let those eyesback in , let his scent infuse her once more, listened to those lips and that long neck beg to be kissed. She couldn't stop it – she let every fibre of her being fall into him again. She hated him and loved him for this, all at once, because _blimey_, how easy it had been for him to make her come undone.

"I wish you had called," he told her, barely whispering, running his thumb over her lips.


	10. DAY TWO: Part IV

DAY TWO: Part IV

"What are you two looking at?" asked Jack, bleary-eyed from a grand total of two hours' sleep. He had come stumbling in from being shot up like Swiss cheese just after four in the morning, finding some of his friends in the conference room. After that, he had crashed on the sofa in the hub. He wasn't a guy who needed much sleep, granted, but that old smoke-infused thing had never looked so inviting. Dying was never fun, but getting Scarfaced was one of his least favourites. When he awoke, Gwen and Ianto were staring at a computer screen.

"Lizard woman," Ianto said with a sigh.

"Agent Johnson," Gwen said with sarcastic reverence. "The ever so honourable special-ops commander who takes civilians hostage and contracts out to kill other government agents. What a princess."

"Well, meow," Jack mocked. "What's she doing?"

"Looking for us, I'd wager," Ianto answered. "Just like Rupesh yesterday."

"Hey Gwen, why don't you go out and talk to her?" Jack joked.

"Oh, shut up," she said, kicking him lightly in the shin. "But we need to do something, boys. She's going to find us sooner or later. She's already too close for comfort."

On the screen, they could see Johnson standing in Roald Dahl Plass, looking directly at the water tower, eyes narrowed.

"She's looking right at us," Ianto said. "It's like she knows something."

"Maybe she feels something, but she doesn't _know _anything. That's the beauty of a perception filter. Anyway, the Doctor heightened the perception filter last night," Jack explained. "After the insanity squad got into Gwen and Rhys' flat, he thought it might be a good idea to make us just that little bit more invisible."

"Still," Gwen said, sighing. "I don't like the looks of her."

"I do," Jack shrugged. "But then, I like them scary sometimes."

Ianto cleared his throat uncomfortably, and asked, "Coffee?"

"Again?" Gwen asked. "Ianto, you're gonna have me so wired, I'll be able to run the half the electrical grids in Cardiff off my adrenal glands. I'll not sleep for days."

"You know what, you two?" Jack said, putting his arm on each of their shoulders. "It's just us. The three of us. All alone in this old hub. Well, not technically alone, but... Doesn't it feel like it's been Grand Central Station around here for, like, years?"

"Sort of," Ianto conceded. "And yeah, Tosh and Owen are gone, it is down to just us three, isn't it?"

"Well, and Martha," Gwen said. "She really is one of us."

"Yeah, speaking of not sleeping," Jack said. "Where are Doctor and Dr. Congeniality?"

Ianto shrugged. "Martha said she was tired, so they… left. I don't know where they went."

Jack chuckled mischievously. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short.

"Stop it," the Doctor's voice rang out as he jogged up the stairs from the medical bay. "What's the matter with you?"

"Do you even have to ask anymore?"

"Where's my coat?"

"Dry cleaner's," Jack said. "You'll have it back by the end of the day on Thursday."

"And the holes?"

"Mystical mender," Jack said. "She lives under a church in Swansea. I'm having it couriered over from the cleaner's."

"Our lives are different from other people's," Ianto said to no one in particular.

"What's she doing?" the Doctor asked, noticing the scary lady on the screen.

"Barking up the right tree, going about it the wrong way," Ianto answered.

"Getting mightily frustrated, from the looks of it," Gwen commented, watching Johnson shout at her men.

"That's not good," the Doctor muttered.

"Better than the alternative, I say," Gwen argued.

"What happened the last time she got frustrated, eh?" he asked, rather more harshly than he meant. "The last time when you lot slipped through her fingers? Did she just keep barking up the same tree? No, she'd lost Jack, she'd lost Rupesh, she'd lost the missing bodies angle, and went after Rhys. Ianto, didn't you say you have family nearby?"

"Yes, my sister and her husband and kids." Ianto's eyes went wide. "Oh… God."

"Yeah. It's where they'll go next," the Doctor reasoned. "If they don't find you there, then they'll use your family to lure you out. And Gwen's and Rhys'. Then, once they work out who Martha is, they'll go after her family, and believe you me, they will not survive another hostage-taking by so-called government officials."

"Er, given a choice, at this point, between who would survive a fistfight, Francine Jones or a government official…" Jack began.

"Yeah, you're right," the Doctor finished. "The government officials don't stand a chance."

"And it will work," Jack said. "It'll draw us out, of course it will! They know we're not going to leave our families to fend for themselves if we can help it! Damn it. Where are they, Ianto? Where do they live?"

"They're on an estate, north of the city," Ianto said. "I'll call, you get the car ready."

"Are they even awake? It's six in the morning," Jack said, moving toward the exit.

"Who cares?" asked the Doctor. "If it was midnight on Christmas, I wouldn't want them staying out there alone. Jack, where are you going? You're not really going to drive, are you? They're going to know all of Torchwood's vehicles by now."

* * *

"Oi," Martha heard from someplace external. "Are you in there?"

"Mm-hm," she groaned. She opened her eyes, and the Doctor was sitting beside her, elbow draped coolly across his knee. He had been poking her arm. "Hi," she said.

"Hi," he responded. "You should come on out. The whole family is coming on-board. We're going on a little trip."

"Okay," she said, still groaning with grogginess. She threw the blanket off, and groaned again. "Ugh, I feel all… crusty. How could you let me fall asleep in my clothes?"

"We said it wouldn't be a good idea to take them off, or had you forgotten?"

"No, but… you own seventy-eight identical brown suits, but you don't have a tee-shirt and a pair of boxers to lend a friend?"

"Some of them are blue, thank you very much," he said. "Just get up. I'll find you something to change into."

Martha stood up and exited the magical cushioned observatory where she and the Doctor had slept, side-by-side, under the same blanket, fully clothed and a little frustrated. A quick glance at her watch told her she'd been asleep less than four hours, but she considered herself lucky to have had even this much rest, given the circumstances.

She found the nearest bathroom, where the TARDIS had readied a toothbrush for her, as well as a comb and some lipgloss. As she was trying to make her hair lay down, the Doctor turned up with a pair of jeans and a brown striped tank top.

"Found these," he said. "They'd wound up in the auxiliary wardrobe. It's where most of the left-behind clothes wind up. I think they were yours."

She chuckled, taking them. "They look familiar. Thanks!" She put them on, resolving to stop and buy a new pair of underpants (or three) and socks first chance she got. She didn't even want to think about what sorts of undergarments had been tossed into the TARDIS' auxiliary wardrobe.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she ran into Jack and the Doctor in the hallway. The Doctor was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a scowl. Jack was speaking on the phone.

"I promise, it's not a trick! It's a safety precaution! They've tried to kill me twice, and they obviously haven't been successful… but they wanted to plant a bomb in my body and my friends wouldn't let them get close enough. So they went after Gwen's family, and you're crazy if you don't think they're coming for you next!" he was saying.

Martha mouthed "Who is that?" to the Doctor. He shrugged, and continued to scowl.

"Of course they know you exist, Alice," Jack said. "They've got files on you and your mother all the way back to… I don't know when. Probably the day you were born. And Steven too… no, do not leave your house, do you hear me? This is the only way… no, I wouldn't do that to you. Or to him. Please, for once in your life, trust me."

There was a pause, a deep sigh, and Jack breathed, "Thank you," into the phone. He shut it off, and looked at the Doctor. "She'll be ready."

"Good," the Doctor said. "Now who the hell is she?"

"She and her son… they're family. Let's just leave it at that."

"More secrets, then?"

"You know what? Why don't you tell me about _your _family someday, and then we can have this discussion again, all right, time boy?"

"Oh good, I was hoping for more bickering today," Martha said. "Can someone just tell me what we're doing?"

"Come on," the Doctor said, taking her hand, heading for the console room. The glowing chamber contained Rhys and Gwen, Ianto, Rupesh, Julie and Leandra.

"Good morning," Martha said to everyone. "Sorry, I guess I'm a little late."

"No bother," Gwen said. Then she made pointed eye-contact with Martha and said quietly, "It was worth the wait, yeah?"

"I wouldn't know," Martha whispered back. "I just got here."

The two women looked at each other, one with mischievous, evasive glee, the other with playful exasperation.

* * *

Exasperated. That was the nice way of putting it. Agent Johnson had never done well with patience… so she was right exasperated just now. The not-so-nice way of putting it was that she was sick and fucking tired of waiting, and wanted results right the hell now. Her orders were to eliminate the Torchwood team, starting with Captain Jack Harkness. Well, she'd been a massive failure thus far. Not only did the immortal beloved still live (or rather, enjoy his freedom with his body fully integrated), as did Gwen Cooper and Ianto Jones, but the team seemed to be multiplying. Patanjali had joined up (no problem there, he's a non-entity, he was supposed to die anyway), plus at least three other adults, a small child, and now Rhys Williams. Williams, the kid and the plump woman didn't seem like they'd be much of a problem but the tall bloke with the hair and the short, pretty dark lady? They were going to be tougher. If nothing else, he had some kind of universal remote which was able to disable both her weapon and her vehicle, and the woman with him could run like a gazelle.

She hadn't got a good enough look at either one of them to run a facial recognition program, even with sentient software. She'd just have to wait until they turned up someplace again.

But that was just it. They weren't turning up. Mention Torchwood, and most people point toward Roald Dahl Plass, the bay. She didn't expect that there would just be a door she could walk through, but she had literally scoured the area, she and her team – twice – and had not seen any nook nor cranny nor a recognisably moveable crack that could possibly constitute a secret entrance. She was at a loss. And she hated losing.

And now they were in the middle of the suburbs, and she'd lost again. Shit.

"Frobisher," the voice said on the other end of the line.

"You're not going to like it," Johnson said.

"Tell me at least one of them is dead," Frobisher whispered – really, hissed – into the phone.

"No such luck, sir," she admitted.

"For Christ's sake, it's been twenty-four hours," he spat. "What the hell is the problem?"

"Well, I'm getting to that," she sighed. "You remember plan B, if and when the team slipped through the cracks. Well, we attempted to implement it…"

Frobisher sighed heavily. If she'd been in the room with him she would have seen him remove his glasses, squeeze his eyes tight and massage the bridge of his nose. But she didn't see that, she only imagined a barely-suppressed nervous anger boiling just below the surface. She could feel her career going down the drain. "You… _attempted_ to implement it," he repeated. "And don't tell me. The bloody families have got away from you as well."

"Sorry, sir."

"All of them?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "Rhiannon and Johnny Davies and their children – gone. From the looks of their flat, it looks like they've been gone for several hours. Alice Carter and her son Steven – gone. Same story."

"This is rubbish," he scolded. "Johnson, this isn't good enough."

"Sir, the chains had been latched from the inside of both of their doors. The cars are still in the ports, and they've not been driven since yesterday evening. They've taken their phones, the computers have been triple and quadruple password-protected – we've got a team on that right now, and they're getting nothing from it, it's some type of encryption they've never seen before. It's like they've been contacted by the world's greatest technological escape artist, and teleported from their own homes."

"Well, that's ridiculous. And impossible," Frobisher muttered. "For God's sake, it sounds like a badlly executed locked-room mystery. Any news yet on who those other three could be?"

"Yes, the hospital records tell us that the mother and daughter are Julie and Leandra Gilbert. They're nothing special, just a family brought into the psych ward for the same reason every other family was in the psych ward. The other two… not so much."

"Well, keep looking. And if another happy household happens to disappear from its living-room in the next twenty-four hours…"

"Way ahead of you sir. Already got a team on it. We'll be on them."

"See that you and your _team_ are," snarled Frobisher, in his very British way.


	11. DAY TWO:  Part V

DAY TWO: Part V

The TARDIS had been a crowded place a year ago when Martha, Jack, Donna, Rose, Sarah Jane, Jackie, Mickey and two Doctors were gathered round the console, flying the Earth home from the Medusa Cascade.

But that was nothing compared to today.

Martha sat in a privileged spot upon the navigator's stool while the Doctor did most of the work, and Jack helped. In addition to the three of them, there was Gwen, Ianto, Rhys, Rupesh, Julie and Leandra. Then there was Ianto's sister and her family: Rhiannon, Johnny, David and Mica. Jack's as-yet-undisclosed relations, Alice and Steven, plus Rhys' parents, Gwen's parents and Rupesh's as well. Most of them had taken a right lot of convincing, but most of the world was sufficiently scared by the _we are coming back _message, that they were willing to do and believe just about anything.

Rounding out the crowd, there was Francine and Clive Jones, Tish, Leo, Leo's girlfriend Nadine and their little girl, Keshia. Twenty-seven people in the console room, most of them shellshocked, all of them hanging on to something as the TARDIS shucked and shifted about.

The vessel came to a halt, and the Doctor took his hands away from the controls and looked at Jack.

"Here we are, my friends," Jack announced to the group. "Toledamanga Park, famed resort of the stars."

"Where are we, Vail?" asked Johnny.

"Better," Jack said. "Everyone out! We'll be back for you folks in forty-eight hours. In the meantime, enjoy the hot springs, the desserts and the live entertainment, courtesy of Torchwood!"

Alice looked at Jack sceptically. "What is this?"

"I told you," he said to her gently. "It's a refuge. It's getting you out of the way. The government is after us, so they'll come after you too. Just trust me. It's better this way."

"What if that thing happens again to the kids?" she asked. "How are we supposed to find you?"

Jack looked at the Doctor, who stepped forward and said, "Alice, you have my personal guarantee that these children will not be speaking in unison again. But as insurance… may I see your mobile phone?"

Alice looked at Jack, who nodded. She handed over her phone, and the Doctor sonicked it. "There now," he said. "Universal roaming. And I've programmed in my number, just in case."

"Universal roaming?"

"Yes, wherever you are, wherever we are… you'll be able to get a signal, guaranteed. And assuming we're not dead, we'll answer. Won't we, Jack?"

"Absolutely."

She took her phone back and looked at both men sceptically, pulled her son in for a protective hug, and shoved the phone back in her pocket.

"My only instructions are that you lot stay together, keep track of each other, and do not leave the resort. Forty-eight hours, and then you'll have your answers, we promise," the Doctor said. "Any questions?"

"Who the hell are you people?" asked Rhys' dad. Clive Jones reached out and patted the man on the shoulder in commiseration as if to say _well, now, that's never going to get a response, but it's good to try._

The Doctor took a deep breath and said, "Okay, I take it back. No questions right now. Later. Jack?"

"All right team, wagons roll!" Jack led everyone out the door, including the Torchwood team, Julie, Leandra and Rupesh. Martha hugged her family and assured them that they were out of harm's way this time, there would be no way the officials could get to them.

This resort idea had been Jack's, and the Doctor had thought it was a fine revelation, assuming that all these folks stuck to the plans. His rigging Alice's phone had been a twofold advantage; they could now get in touch with their people at the resort, as well as vice versa.

Watching them go, Martha said, "Who do you think Alice is?"

The Doctor's eyebrows went up. "She has Jack's eyes," the Doctor said. "And I'm thinking… not a sister. Not unless the whole family went to work for the Time Agency in the fifty-third century and wound up here accidentally, fleeing from the Daleks... after the time vortex brought her back to life... and the TARDIS abandoned her... and their vortex manipulators made the same amazing mistake."

"So, not his sister."

The Doctor smiled and shook his head.

"That's what I thought too! Jack's… a dad! And a granddad! Who do you think her mum is?"

The Doctor looked at her quizzically. "It's Jack. It could be anyone."

She smiled. "Okay, next question. Where the hell are we?" asked Martha.

"The planet Traeuneum Song," he said, leaning on the console facing her. "Known for high-elevation resorts. We phoned ahead to make sure that our people didn't leave, and were never alerted to the fact that they're on a different planet. Jack is paying extra for some particularly close surveillance and safety measures, extra amenities to distract the kids."

Martha nodded, thinking. She frowned at the floor.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"It just seems to me that we're never going to get _everyone_," she said. "I mean, really, if we're going to do this properly, we should be picking up everyone we know. I mean, you don't have any family that she can get go, but you have friends. What about Donna? Sarah Jane? Mickey?"

"Martha, that would be a huge network," he mutttered. "We have to draw the line somewhere. We have to trust at some point that she'll give up."

"I know. I just keep picturing her finding my family not there, and then burning through my friends or extended family… any one of them would be enough to bring me back."

He sighed. "I know. And I'll bet Gwen and Ianto and even Jack are all feeling the same thing, but…"

"Yeah, we have to draw the line."

He smirked. "Good thing there's no husband to mess with, eh?"

"For many reasons." She was serious.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to bring up the bile," he said, switching to serious himself.

"No, no," she said. "You didn't. He did that himself."

He chuckled. "Well, let him think what he wants, for all the difference it makes now."

She looked up at him. "Let him think what he wants," she repeated. "Sure, because it was never true, what he thought about us."

He looked back at her. There was a pause. "Nope," he said. "It never was."

"I wish it had been sometimes," she whispered. "Even still."

He nodded. "I know." Then he took in a deep breath and said, "I wish it too."

She smiled weakly. "And you waited 'til _last night_ to let me know."

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't know until… well, earlier than last night, but…"

"I know. You said. It's just that..."

"You made the right decision," he said. "Now's not the time. World in peril and all."

She shook her head. "Now would be the _perfect_ time, with the world in peril." She looked at him longingly.

"Please don't do that," he whispered, looking away from her. "It doesn't help."

"Sorry," she whispered back, voice breaking with emotion. "I just hate myself sometimes when I'm too sensible."

"I still say it was the right decision."

She gulped and nodded, swallowing down something big. She wasn't sure if it was tears, a great scream or just a hurtful surge of love.

"Not that…" he started. "I mean, I would have… I wanted…"

She smiled again. "Yeah? Well then, it's a good job we had a nice long snog, or I'd feel right cheated."

He stepped forward. He took her cheeks in his hands and kissed her. He probed her mouth gently, and she probed back, exploring, letting herself being be flooded, just for a minute, with the ghosts of last night. She'd never so sorely regretting being _sensible_.

When he pulled away, he did not let go. He looked her in the eyes and muttered, "When the world is safe."

* * *

Jack, Gwen, Rhys, Ianto and Rupesh returned to the TARDIS after having explored the resort a bit. Martha and the Doctor had explored as well, spent most of the time hand-in-hand, walking over the Japanese bridges and marvelling at the otherworldly aura.

But not too long. The Earth was still coming under fire from the SharKann, on frequency 456.

"Bloody hell!" Rhys exclaimed, as only he could. "This plase is chuffing amazing! Where in God's name are we?"

"Er, yeah, that's the thing," Jack said. "We're on… please don't freak out… a different planet."

"What?" Rhys shouted, his voice higher than he probably would have liked. "Wait, we're leaving my family and Gwen's family and Martha's and Ianto's and… on a different planet?"

"Well… yeah. Don't worry, the Doctor does stuff like this all the time."

"How will they get home if the Doctor is killed?" Rhys continued shouting.

"Rhys, sweetheart, calm down," Gwen said.

Jack jumped in. "Even if the Doctor's killed, the Doctor's not killed. He'll still be able to fly the TARDIS."

"Is he like you?" asked Rhys.

"Not exactly," Jack said. "Actually, his coming-back-to-life process is a lot dodgier than mine. But we can trust it, don't worry, Rhys."

"No, no," the Doctor said. "He's got a point."

"Thank you!" Rhys sighed. "At last, someone thinks I'm more than just a lump of dough."

"No-one thinks you're a lump of dough," Ianto said dryly, unconvincingly, patting Rhys on the shoulder.

The Doctor pulled the screen toward himself, and began to hit buttons. "I'm writing an emergency protocol right now. If I'm put out of commission, command will fall to Martha, then to Jack," he said. He looked at Martha. "You already have the psychic connection with the TARDIS. You just point and shoot. Tell it where to go and it will go, even if you can't remember the name of the planet, it will know."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Wow. Okay," she said.

"Maybe I should let you do that anyway, even if I'm not incapacitated, that way you can fly it without me…"

"No, no, the usual waiting for you to jostle us to the next location will be fine," Martha said, patting the Doctor's arm like an adoring aunt. "You do such a nice job of it."

"Well, just as a safety precaution," he shrugged. "Are you sure? Can't be too careful with our loved ones…" He'd trailed off.

"What?" asked Martha.

"Just occurred to me," the Doctor said. "If the British government has contacted the SharKann before, or vice versa, and they traded favours or whatever… the SharKann have teleportation and time-jumping powers. It's entirely possible that Johnson could track us here, if they have the right equipment, and they pull out all the stops…"

"But even if that were true, how would they get here?" Ianto wanted to know.

"We're within firing range of the planet Venus," the Doctor said. "They have space probes strong enough to get to Venus – not that the public knows about them – and all they'd have to do is retrofit it with…"

"Doctor, Doctor," Jack interrupted. "It would take months to put something like that together. Do you really think they'd go through all that just to take us out? Not even us, our families? Who know nothing?"

"Maybe not," the Doctor sighed. "But at the very least I wish I'd put perception filters on their houses."

"What's a perception filter?" asked Patanjali.

"It's an invisible field that can be placed around certain objects, and it allows them to be unseen," the Doctor said. "All of the entrances to the Torchwood hub have a perception filter so that the staff can come and go, and no-one is the wiser."

"Oh, I know," Rhys said. "Like when we went up and down in the invisible lift, and no one even noticed we were disappearing out in the middle of Roald Dahl Plass!" His expression was wide-eyed delight, like that of a child.

"Exactly," Jack told him. "And the Doctor being the Doctor, he can put a perception filter on almost anything he likes. The TARDIS carries a filtered field around it at all times, and he can channel it, or… whatever, I don't really understand it, but that's why we keep him around."

"But eventually, wouldn't you see it, like if you walked past it every day, or stared long enough?" Rupesh asked.

"You stared right at our entrance… twice. And you didn't see it," Jack said. "You didn't even see Gwen when she came out of it, until she said your name."

Almost without moving her lips, Martha muttered, "You'd have to know what to look for." She was speaking with her eyes fixed to a place on the TARDIS' floor grate, almost in a trance. She was fingering her necklace absently, as though it were a catalyst for her mind's containment. "You'd have to _know_ you're looking for something coming up out of the ground. You'd have to _know_ it's a blue metal door…"

She shook it off and seemed to come to. When she looked up, the Doctor was glaring at her, legs apart, hands in pockets, brown eyes penetrating. She didn't know if _that_ was when he realised it, or whether it was simply then that he realised that she knew he knew. The point was, they made eye contact, and Martha was aware that she wasn't going to get out of telling the rest of the story.

* * *

The TARDIS materialised once more in the Torchwood hub, and it was just about noon. The Doctor had calibrated some common receivers to the 456 frequency, and a red light was flashing, indicating that there had been a transmission. A series of crazy codes and numbers came up on the computer readout, after the sonic screwdriver did its work. The Doctor put on his glasses and squinted.

"We are coming tomorrow," he whispered.

"Yikes. We have to move," Jack said.

"We are coming tomorrow," Gwen echoed. "What does that mean?"

The Doctor picked up a remote control and aimed it at a nearby television. The BBC was broadcasting the _breaking news _of children's most recent unison declaration, "We are coming tomorrow." A schoolyard full of children chanting in Baghdad. In the streets of Kinshasaa, Congo. Always in English, always the kids, in rhythm.

"Whoa," Gwen sighed. "That is not good."

"Ach," the Doctor spat whimsically. "Nothing to worry about. Well, nothing _new _to worry about. The situation was dire, we knew that. All this does is give us a deadline. It's currently eight minutes past noon. At minimum, we have eleven hours and fifty-two minutes before the SharKann arrive on planet Earth, probably more like eighteen hours. All we have to do is work out where they're landing…"

"…how to get close to them," Jack added.

"And to that end: how the hell are they going to survive on this planet," the Doctor finished. "First things first, eh?"

"What do you mean?" Martha asked, crossing her arms over her chest. The Doctor smiled inwardly – she was fully in investigator mode now.

"They can't breathe oxygen," he said. "They breathe a rather disgusting combination of nitrosyl and salt and cyanide and half a dozen other nasty agents. Toxic to most beings in the universe – makes the SharKann unique. In fact, it's not totally non-toxic even to them, which is why they need your kids."

"Oh my God, what if they start filling the air with the stuff, like the Sontarans did?" she asked.

"I remember that," Rupesh exclaimed. "It was chaos!"

"They won't," the Doctor assured them. "If they could, they would just come and take the kids, without asking, without making an appointment. There must be something keeping them from filtering through Earth's atmosphere."

"Like what?" Jack asked.

"Whatever it is, it's to our advantage, and it means they'll have to have a special facility built for them. So! Let's start tracing those chemicals, shall we? I'll give you lot a list, and you find out who's delivering them and where they're delivering them to."

"It'll be a government building, yeah?" Ianto asked.

"Well, that doesn't really narrow it down, does it?" the Doctor asked.

Ianto flattened his lips and shook his head. He realised that what Jack said about the Doctor is true: he makes you want to be better, be smarter, be faster. But on his own he realised that until one arrived at Martha's or Jack's level of familiarity or cleverness, it was best to keep one's mouth shut, unless it was to ask a fairly educated question.

The Doctor began jotting down the ingredients in the SharKann's atmosphere.

"I'll see if I can use my police contacts to see if the chemicals were escorted or delivered," Gwen said. "It's London, so it's a longshot, but what the hell?"

"I'll find out where they're distributed," Ianto said. "I wouldn't think they'd be using a distribution centre right in the middle of the city. Seems a bit on-the-nose…"

"Good," the Doctor said to him, pointing an approving finger. Ianto glowed on the inside, and felt a little dirty as he did so. He wasn't sure why.

"I might be able to help with that," Rupesh said. "If you can do the computer legwork, I can help with the science. Or make phone-calls. I know about toxic chemicals."

"Yeah?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. I'm a doctor. It's part of the game."

"Meanwhile," Jack continued, turning his attention back to the Doctor. "How do we get inside? They're going to have _something_ that will sense the TARDIS' presence. Even with the perception filter…"

"Just leave that to me," the Doctor said. "I have a phone call to make. Jack, can you dig up some gas masks?"

"Inventory? That's what you've got me doing?"

"Torchwood's bound to have some highly-sensitive, specialised masks from out-of-town friends, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"In a vault someplace?"

"Yeah."

"Do any of this lot know how to get at them?"

"No."

"Well?"

"Fine," Jack sighed.

"Martha, with me," the Doctor said, re-entering the TARDIS.

* * *

"Johnson, tell me there's good news."

"Well, it's not bad news, Mr. Frobisher. We think we've identified one of the Torchwood interlopers."

"But everyone's still alive?"

"Yes, but as you know, this group is not long on letting its loved ones suffer."

"Just do what you have to," Frobisher sighed. "Who is it?"

"Dr. Martha Jones, sir," she said. "A family disappeared from Kensington in another locked-room mystery, and when we looked into them… well, Francine and Clive Jones have a daughter named Martha who is known associate of Harkness. She's a UNIT operative, the Chief Medical Officer."

"Shit," Frobisher spat. "We cannot kill UNIT's Chief Medical Officer, we need their cooperation."

"We _could _make it look like an accident. Fortunately, we won't need to, sir," she said. "We'll just draw them all out into the open, like like we said we would."

"I thought you said her family had disappeared."

"We are not without recourse," Johnson assured him. "A young woman has connections."

"Just make sure you don't cock it up like last time."

"Understood," Johnson said, closing her phone.


	12. DAY TWO:  Part VI

DAY TWO: Part VI

They stood in the console room, once more, and Martha watched the Doctor pace back and forth. He had her old phone to his ear, and was clearly waiting for an answer. He had a contact within government (actually, Martha suspected he probably had quite a few), and he'd already been diverted twice from the main switchboard.

"Ugh," he said, burying his free hand in his hair. "Would you stop pawning me off on the helpline? You know what I want, now put me through!"

"Oh, that'll take you straight to the top," Martha muttered, staring at her feet, swinging back and forth under the navigator's chair. As the Doctor walked past her, she accidentally kicked him in the knee, and he didn't even notice.

"I know you're extremely busy – it's something I can help with, but only if you let me speak to…" the Doctor shouted. "…why don't you let him decide that? Can I at least leave a number? Thank you." He recited the phone number, then slammed the phone shut and swore.

"What's the problem now?"

"They won't pass along the number," the Doctor said. "I'm going to have to play dirty."

"Play dirty?"

"Yeah," the Doctor sighed. "He's a clever bloke, he'll find me one way or another. I'll just have to play on his… proclivities."

He stood at the computer screen and typed in some information, and the Time Rotor groaned as he did so. He consoled it, lulled it, and Martha heard him say to his TARDIS, "Don't say that. Call it retro." He finished typing with fluorish, then said, _"Voilà, _now we'll just wait for _him_ to come to _us._"

"Doctor, why aren't you calling UNIT?" she asked.

"Because frankly, they're not like Torchwood," he said. "They don't have anyone at the helm anymore who trusts me enough to do what I say. Even in the Brigadier's time, I was just a _consultant _and they only listened to me when they were bloody good and ready – usually too late. Nowadays, there's Colonel Mace and he's a bit of a lame duck, and there's you. And you're here with me, where you ought to be, so… no UNIT. They'd just thunder in with their nuclear weapons and try to sabotage the whole thing… bleah, who needs that?"

"Oi, those are my employers you're trashing!" she protested. "And who, exactly, got me in good with them?"

"Do you disagree?"

"No. They do tend to thunder in."

"Mm. Speaking of trundling about in places where one doesn't belong," he said. "Is there something you want to tell me about that TARDIS key?"

She averted her eyes and sighed. It was all she could do when she thought of Tom now. Sigh. She didn't really miss him – especially not in the last twenty-four hours. She had her proper Doctor back, and he was paying her more attention (and a different kind of attention) than ever before. She wasn't angry with him anymore, nor heartbroken. She just felt wistful, like it was a distant memory, not like she'd missed her wedding three days ago.

"I'm not feeling it anymore, Doctor," she said. "Things have changed a lot over the last day or so."

"What does that mean?" He was gentle about this question, not defensive.

"It means," she said, looking up and smiling. "I'm enjoying being here with you, and it's making the pain that Tom caused go away. Can't we just focus on that? Being here, being with each other, saving the world like… like it should be?"

"I suppose," he said. "If that's the way you want to handle it."

Something in his tone bothered her. It was flat, swallowed, like a confession about to burst out. His eyes darted about, and she watched them move uncomfortably. "Why do you say it like that?"

"Well, it may have escaped your notice," he said. "But you and I seem to be embarking on something new."

"It had not escaped my notice."

"Good."

"Nothing you do escapes my notice, ever," she said, her eyes pleading, remembering a whole different set of painful moments.

"Well, in my experience, when this kind of _something new_ arises, it's best not to have things locked away. Don't you agree, Dr. Jones?"

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"Martha, I'm not accusing you of anything," he said. "But don't you think we should all learn from our mistakes? I mean, I'm not exactly the poster boy for sane decisions sometimes, but…" he trailed off. He didn't know where he was going after that, and suddenly it occurred to him that he didn't have any right to be lecturing someone else on repeat errors.

She leaned back in the chair. She arched back and stretched, taking a deep breath and a hard look at the TARDIS' ceiling.

"You're right," she conceded, as she sat upright again. "Whatever it was that Tom was up-in-arms about, it was… mostly rubbish. But ever since we split, I can't help thinking that there's more to it. Sure, he was pissed off because he found that I'd kept a little piece of you in my underwear drawer, but… even before that, he had it in his head that you were coming to Earth for conjugal visits with me. Again, rubbish. Technically. But, obviously, he must have been picking up on…" she bit her lip.

"You can say it," he smiled. "I won't judge."

"…my feelings for you. Well, let's not mince words. The fact that I'm in love with you."

He smiled.

"And truthfully," she continued. "I can't say with any certainty that it didn't affect my relationship with him."

"I'm sure it did," the Doctor said. "But do you see the detriment in keeping it under wraps? If he was concerned about me in your life, he should have addressed it in some other way than accusing you of…"

"Shagging a Martian?"

"Is that what he said?" the Doctor asked, nose crinkled.

"Yep."

"Why does everyone think I'm from Mars?"

"Yeah, _that _is the biggest problem with this scenario."

"But you see my point, Martha," he said. "You kept all of that hidden away, and I know you thought it was for the best, but… you had a secret, and it drove Tom a bit barmy, didn't it? Not that I'm blaming you for… that other thing that he did."

She nodded. "You know. I know you know."

The Doctor kept talking. "For that, he has no excuse whatsoever. Him going nuts was probably just guilt over _that._ People who don't trust others are that way because they're being dodgy themselves."

"When did you know?"

"Soon as you told me. Martha, you know that the TARDIS key I gave you can only be seen…"

"…if someone goes looking for it."

"He'd have to have been _searching_ for something," the Doctor said. "Whether he knew you had the key, whether he knew he was looking for a vestige of me, or something otherworldly, he went diving into your knickers on a mission."

"Yes, he did. I worked that out right away."

"And there's only one reason a man would do that, go _looking _for something deliberately to incriminate you," the Doctor said. "He wanted you on even ground."

Martha nodded subtly.

"So what was her name?" the Doctor said.

"I never knew," Martha said. Her voice, in spite of herself, broke a bit. It had been the most humiliating experience of her entire life, and until now, she'd been able to keep the memory at bay. She knew that it was good that the Doctor was forcing it out of her, and she knew that he was right about keeping secrets. If she couldn't talk about Tom, how could she hope to have an open and trusting _new_ relationship with the Doctor? "She was ginger."

He waited for her to continue.

"After we had that row over the key, I started thinking about what you just said. How could he have seen it unless he knew it was there? That key let me escape from the top echelons of government-trained thugs for an entire year while I was on the run. A Time Lord and his minions couldn't find me, and Tom just… what, stumbles across it? No way. I knew something was…" her fists tightened as though she were reaching for soemthing. "...just not right. But when we were fighting I was too busy defending myself to confront him about it, so…"

"You investigated."

"Yeah. I followed him. Not my shining hour."

"But you were right."

"I was. I felt guilty for skulking about like that. I mean, what if I'd been wrong? He was my fiancé, we were supposed to trust each other."

"Well, when the man you love accuses you of shagging a Martian, the trust has been compromised, I'd say. I'm comfortable with giving you a pass on this particular transgression." He was smiling a gentle, small smile as he said that.

She smiled back, just as gently. It was a mirthless smile.

"Did you use the key to follow him?" the Doctor asked, of course, already knowing the answer.

"Blimey, I wish you weren't so clever sometimes," she said. "Yes, I did. I tucked my hair into a baseball hat and wore the bill down over my eyes, just in case, and borrowed my brother's clothes… but in the end, it probably didn't matter. I wore the key around my neck and followed not twenty feet behind him into a posh hotel. He sat down and waited, so I sat across the room and watched. It wasn't ten minutes. This tall, spectacular redhead turns up in the lobby…"

She stopped there. The look on her face was so defeated and sad, it hurt. He'd seen her look that way before, other times when thinking about someone she loved, giving his attention to someone who wasn't her. He felt a little sick, and gulped.

"Martha, if you don't want to go on…" he said. "I'm sorry I forced you to talk about this."

"No, you were right to do it."

"I just can't stand that look on your face," he said. He took her hands.

"I'll be fine."

"It makes me wonder if you're ready for… this."

"Oh, but I am ready."

"Thinking of Tom and you look like that…"

"I'm thinking of playing second fiddle," she said, regretting it as soon as it was out of her mouth. But she pressed on. "In that moment, all I could think was, _why doesn't anyone see__JUST ME?"_

He pulled his hand down over his face and cursed.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to do that to you," taking his hands again.

"It's okay," he assured her, with a forced grin. "I reckon I deserve it."

"The point is, Doctor, I've been ready for _this_ since the moment I met you. This thing with Tom… basically, it was a blip, as far as I'm concerned, but the incident at the hotel… it makes me nauseous because…"

"I know, it's humiliating."

"Exactly."

"Do you want to just stop and go have some tea?"

She shook her head, and gathered up some more muster, then said, "Tom stood up and smiled when she walked into the lobby. At this point, I was still really hoping it was nothing, but then… well, I was fairly certain that my hopes were in vain when he shoved his tongue in her mouth and grabbed her bum. Then they disappeared into a lift together, and…"

She gulped.

"I'm sorry, Martha."

"Don't be," she said. "It all worked out."

"I do feel responsible."

"You're not. Stop thinking that."

"If I'd just given you a chance back then…"

"Stop it," she said. "We're not going to do this. Tom is the arse here, not you, not me."

He smiled. "Okay."

There was a pause, and she continued. "You know, the bastard didn't make it home until four-thirty in the morning."

"Lovely. What was his alibi?"

"Same as always. On-call in paediatric urgent care. Except this time, he didn't have a chance to say anything because I was waiting."

"Knock-down, drag-out?" the Doctor asked.

"Of the highest order," she nodded. "And guess what."

"It was all _my_ fault," he guessed. Though it wasn't a guess.

"Bingo," she said. She lowered her voice to imitate him. "_It wasn't revenge, Martha. It was solace. It was knowing that I had a place to turn when the woman I love can't be trusted when shades of the past come calling… blah blah. _Bollocks."

The Doctor let go of her hands and crossed his arms over his chest. "What a cock."

She smiled. "That's exactly what Mickey said."

"Well, he and I think alike in very many ways, I hate to admit."

"So I've heard," she chuckled. Another pause, then she added, "And do you know what the most appalling thing was? He still wanted to marry me. Tom, not Mickey."

"Well, who wouldn't?"

"He wanted to _work things out_ and get it all out in the open," she explained. "I told him that what I saw in the lobby was a lot more out-in-the-open than I ever wanted things to be. I told him he was delusional about, well, everything pretty much, and if he didn't trust me and I didn't trust him…"

"Good."

"I didn't even bother explaining one more time that you and I…" she sighed. "I wanted to, but it would have been like a supplication, and I was _so _beyond done with that. I didn't care what he thought then."

"Well, now there's no need to explain all that anymore," he said. He took her head in his hands and kissed her forehead. "For several reasons, actually."

"For the best reasons," she whispered.

He smiled and nodded. Then he leaned in and kissed her heartily, as hard as when they'd got lost under the stars the night before. It made her head spin and swim and made her entire body tingle where everything had gone dead with the previous conversation. When he pulled away, he gave her a look that was a mixture of longing and amusement. "Save the world first?"

Her eyes, in turn, showed a mixture of happiness and pain. "I'd like to say _sod the world_…"

"Then say it," he encouraged, still holding her cheeks.

She smiled the way an indulgent adult smiles at a child. It was almost a sympathetic gesture.

"You're right," he told her, letting go of her. "Don't say it. If you'll say it, then I'll do it. And we only have eleven and some-odd hours."

"You're worried about beating eleven hours?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "I'm over nine-hundred years old. And all of my _time increments_ are longer than a human's. Plus regenerative powers."

He traced a funny, cheeky circle upon her thigh with a fingertip. She felt herself melting and laughing at the same time. He chuckled, and turned to the console.

Her phone rang in her pocket, stealing the moment. She reached in and looked at the light-up display.

"Well, it's a good thing we didn't decide to _sod the world_, or this would be a right awkward moment," she said.

His eyes opened wide in askance, and she turned her phone to show him the caller ID. The Doctor's lips pursed with the weirdness of it.


	13. DAY TWO:  Part VII

DAY TWO: Part VII

Martha opened her phone and hit one of the tiny side buttons, and said, "Hello."

"Martha!" a breathless voice said through the speakerphone. There was panic in the tone. The Doctor frowned. Intensely.

She followed suit. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm being held hostage!"

"What?" she shouted. "Are you kidding me?"

"God, no," he insisted.

The Doctor lunged forward and grabbed Martha's hand, shouting at the phone, "Tom! Who's there with you? Can you describe them?"

There was a silence. Then, "Is that…" from Tom.

"Yes, yes, it's me, hello. Tom, listen…" the Doctor said impatiently.

"I bloody knew it!" Tom shouted.

"Dr. Milligan, your life is actually in real danger. It is not an exaggeration to say that if you piss of the wrong person, you will die. So, you really want to do this now?" The Doctor was earnest, his words clipped.

"It's…" Tom croaked. "A lady."

"Shit," the Doctor spat. "Sorry, not you. Is she… severe-looking?"

A gulp. "Well, yes. And some… commando… type guys."

"What do they want?" asked Martha.

"You. "

"Me? What about Jack?"

"Dunno. They didn't say."

"Blimey. Where are you?" asked Martha, resigning.

"Home," he answered.

Martha looked at the Doctor.

"We'll be there in thirty seconds," the Doctor said.

She shut her phone. "You know that we're walking right into a trap, right? I mean, Agent Johnson might as well have got on the line and said, _why don't you come round so we can kill you."_

"Yes, I know. But _we_, Martha, you and I have a fighting chance at outsmarting her because we've been down this road before. Tom? Not so much. And she would have absolutely no compunction about putting a bullet in his head if she doesn't get what she wants out of him."

"All right. Let's go," she said, grabbing onto the edge of the console for dear life.

Just as the Doctor was flipping the last switch, his own phone rang. He answered, "Hi! Worst timing ever, mate! ...I know I did, but… ring me again in an hour! No, I'm not kidding, something's come up."

There was a pause, and the Doctor looked at Martha with another deep, deep frown.

"Yeah, how'd you know that's where we were going? Of course she's with me, why? How do you even know her name?"

* * *

Tom Milligan had heard stories about a blue Police Box that materialises here and there, travels in time, and makes an otherworldly racket when it goes places. Truthfully, he didn't fully believe it existed.

All he knew was that he'd got sick and tired of hearing about the man who travelled inside it, how clever and dynamic he was, how inhumanly brilliant. And, Tom suspected, he was probably handsome, too, though Martha had, sensitively, never said. And she hadn't even been all that gushy about him, but Tom could tell from the look in her eyes that she was holding back. She told stories of planets saved, changing history, even an alternative timeline in which Tom himself was a great rebel fighting against a despotic ruler. He'd even seen himself how the Daleks had been dispatched with, and the Sontarans, and a litany of other nasties… and at the helm of all these adventures was the Doctor. Great and annoying. Martha had saved his life, put her own on the line, walked across the world, and fallen at least a little bit in love with him. It didn't take a genius to see it.

He was about to meet the Doctor, the man whom _he _had accused of breaking up his engagement to a truly wonderful woman, though he knew deep down that it was his own damn fault. Whatever Martha's relationship with the Doctor had been before Tom met her, he knew that it was in the past. He didn't know the Doctor's disposition at all, but he knew Martha's, and he didn't _really_ believe that she would shag anyone else while seeing him, and especially after the engagement was official. But Tom, apparently _would _shag someone else after the engagement was official, because… well, he had. He still had no idea why. None of those women had been special in any way – just hot. Sort of. But look what he'd had at home, and given up! He'd be hard-pressed to find a woman more beautiful or intelligent in the world, let alone in London or in his street, or on his block! And she lived in his flat and slept in his bed! He didn't know what enters the mind of a man to make him think that the love at the centre of his life will not suffer from outside liaisons, but something does. Something did.

No, he didn't really believe that Martha and the Doctor had been behaving improperly during Tom's relationship with her… but now? He'd clearly heard the Doctor's voice over the phone, now, today, three weeks and one day after Tom's constant thinking from his genitalia had cost them a marriage. Three weeks yesterday, and who knew how much time they'd spent together since the break-up? One had to wonder about that. What kind of man moves in for the kill _this soon_ after a woman has been hurt? He wondered whether they'd been in Bermuda when he called – she still had the tickets. But then again, the great and wondrous _Doctor_ could wisk her off to more exotic places than Bermuda, surely. Perhaps they'd been in some love nest on Mars, or frolicking nude in a crisp, clear green pool on Venus…

"Milligan!" the scary woman was shouting. "For Christ's sake, would you answer the door?"

He'd been so deep in thought, he hadn't heard the knocking. He wasn't sure why she or one of her bullies couldn't do it themselves – it was the least they could do for coming into his flat and holding a gun to his head. But as the Doctor had pointed out, it probably wasn't wise to piss these people off, so he went to the door.

He pulled the door open, and his gaze fell on Martha Jones' very earnest, painfully pretty face.

"Hello, sweetheart," she said flatly. "Sorry, forgot my key."

"Honey, you're home. You wouldn't believe the day I've had," he sighed. He looked around behind her – Martha was alone.

"Yeah?" she said, stepping inside, staring warily up at him. Though, in spite of the last three weeks in pain over Tom, and the last day or so overjoyed over the Doctor, she felt a pang. She mentally noted how not since uni, with the female flatmate, professor and chemistry lab partner all pursuing her at once, had she been pulled in so many different emotional directions. Her solution back then had been to move house, report the professor and verrily snog her lab partner (often and a lot), though she didn't imagine that had been the best of solutions, and was sure it wasn't going to solve the problem here.

"I'd been at work for a stright twenty-four hours," he said, rubbing his eyes, looking genuinely knackered.

"Oh, the kids!" she said, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah, every paediatric ward in town has been in constant chaos since yesterday morning," he told her.

"Not just paediatrics," she said. "I was patching up broken bones in the ED yesterday – car accidents all over the place."

"Oh, so you came back to London for that?" he asked, a little scared, searching her.

She knew what he was asking, and gave him a _don't mess with me_ look, and said, "But I reckon you lot have got the brunt of it."

"And still haven't found anything wrong with the children."

"You won't. There's nothing wrong with them." Martha ws whispering.

"I knew it. Aliens, yeah?" Now he was whispering, too. A guard was standing in the foyer with them, though his attention was elsewhere, and he was ten feet away from them.

She nodded. "The Doctor knows what's causing it," she said, pausing slightly, waiting for Tom to make an exhausted _oh the Doctor again _comment, but he did not. "We've been trying to work it out, but… well, _our people_ keep getting attacked and held hostage, so we've been trying to put _these_ fires first. We've spent most of the day shuttling people in and out of their homes before this lot can get in."

"It's probably a big diversion," he whispered. "Trying to get UNIT and Torchwood out of the way…"

"You're not far off," she whispered back. "It's really more of a manhunt."

"Shit." There was a pause in which they avoided each other's eyes, then, "Martha, it's good to see you."

She looked up, swallowed hard. This was the man who had, not one month ago, horribly humiliated her. Was he really trying to get in her good graces now? "Don't do that. I still can't forgive you. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

"Well," he said, sheepishly. "Thank you for coming."

"I did take the Hippocratic oath," she said. "Can't very well leave you here to get shot or blown up. Again."

He cleared his throat. "Thanks ever so."

"Oi! You in there! What's taking so long?" Agent Johnson called out from the living room.

"Just a fond hello," Martha said, taking his hand. "Haven't seen each other in weeks."

He looked surprised as she did this, and she led him into the sitting room where the black-clad army was waiting.

"You know," she said. "The job takes me all over, sometimes weeks at a time."

"Yes, I imagine it does, Dr. Jones," Johnson said. "Being the Chief Medical Officer of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce undoubtedly has its stresses."

"Now what the hell do you want?" Martha asked, almost as a resigned sigh.

"Where are your friends?"

"My friends?"

"Your friends," Johnson said, feeling her patience unravel. "The wacky gang over at Torchwood."

"Oh, them," Martha said, nodding. "Yeah, they're not coming."

"Do I have to hold you as prisoner as well?"

"Won't help. We have a pact. One of us gets captured, we get left behind. Better that than all of us trundling in to get gunned down one by one. Or all blown up at once," Martha explained, a smirk forming on her mouth a she said those last words.

Agent Johnson smiled. "You have instruments. Detected our explosives, did you?"

"No, just an intelligent guess," Martha said. "But thanks for confirming it."

Now Johnson wasn't smiling. She pointed a gun at Martha's head, and demanded, "Get Harkness here. Now."

"Why bother? You know you can't kill him!"

"We figure a metric tonne of wet concrete ought to keep the bastard contained for a while. Doesn't stay wet forever, you know."

"Well, it's moot anyway, because I'm not doing it. I'll take the explosives, please," Martha said.

"What?" Tom asked, his head snapping sideways to gape at her.

"Yeah," she nodded at him. "If that's what it comes down to, we'll take the explosives. You and me, baby. What more could we ask than to die together?"

Agent Johnson was gritting her teeth. "Are you mad?"

"Not at all," she said. "Just savvy enough to know I'm beaten. I came here to die with my beloved fiancé."

"All right then," Johnson said, shaking with anger. "Have it your way. Anderson, set the timer."

The man she'd called Anderson protested. "But, ma'am…"

"Anderson, you know the plan. Don't be daft. Maxwell, set up a perimeter guard a hundred feet away from the building to stop these two escaping. If we're going to set off a bomb in the middle of London, we'd better bloody well have a result that we can report back to Frobisher! Samuels, evacuate the neighbours. Everyone, you have five minutes to get your arses out of here, now move!"

Martha grabbed Tom's hand again and headed toward the stairs.

"Oi! Where do you two think you're going?" Johnson shouted at them.

Martha looked at her with annoyance. "Upstairs."

"Why?"

"We're five minutes from death, do you really have to ask?"

Johnson was nonplussed, but eventually recovered and crossed her arms. "You'd rather spend this time having a shag than calling Harkness?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"Go ahead," Johnson said. "I was hoping we could settle this amicably."

Martha shot back, "Tom and I are, can't speak for you. We're going out with a bang, so to speak, so please excuse us."

They disappeared up the stairs, leaving a frustrated Agent Johnson staring after them. "Something isn't right," she muttered.

She resolved that once the scenario was set up, she'd go up and check to see that she was correct, that Martha Jones and Tom Milligan were up to something other than an apocalyptic screw. But by the time she did, more than five minutes were up, and the two clever doctors must know by now that it was a ruse.

But Agent Johnson burst in on them anyhow, not really expecting to find any grunting and heaving. She wasn't sure _what_ she'd find.

What she _did_ find shocked her more than she thought anything could.

The room was empty.

The flat had only one bedroom and it was devoid of human presence. Checks of the bathroom, closets, loft, kitchen, everything, revealed no-one and nothing. She checked with all of her perimeter guards, as well as the frightened, recently evacuated neighbours. No-one had seen them come out a window, use a door or leave the area. They had pulled another locked-room escape, right under her nose. She screamed out an unhinged expletive into the hot afternoon air.


	14. DAY TWO:  Part VIII

DAY TWO: Part VIII

As soon as the TARDIS was properly parked, once again, back at Torchwood, the Doctor pulled the handbrake and sighed.

"All right?" he asked Tom, who was sitting against, but not on, the navigator's chair, with his hands wrapped around either sides, knuckles white.

Tom nodded, trying to seem casual.

"It's okay, just take a minute," the Doctor suggested, slapping him on the back. "It's a bumpy ride. I'll get you some water."

"No, I'm fine, it's just…" Tom said, gasping. He turned to Martha and whispered, like a child, "…it's bigger on the inside!"

"I'd noticed," she whispered back.

"I didn't believe you."

"Well, that's because you're a dullard sometimes," Martha told him calmly, like a primary school teacher.

"What _was_ all that? I mean, what _is _all this?" Tom asked, wide-eyed.

"Well, I couldn't very well materialise the TARDIS in the house while she was watching, could I?" the Doctor said, leaning against the console. "Then she'd report back, and her people would know who I am and that I'm involved, and the jig would be up for me. And that's assuming she didn't try to commandeer it. Better this way."

"Better to scare the living shit out of me?" from Tom.

"No, that was just for fun," Martha shrugged. "The chaos was the necessary evil."

"Wait, all of that running round…" Tom began.

"Mm-hm," the Doctor said. "All the guarding and arming and evacuating made just enough noise that I could land the TARDIS upstairs without her being the wiser. 'Cause I knew she'd never let you out the door, if she was going to threaten you with getting blown up."

"Cutting it a bit fine, though, eh?" Tom asked, seeming to lose his breath again. "I mean, she _could have_ blown us up!"

"Nah," the Doctor said. "She's under orders to kill the Torchwood team, but to spare Martha Jones."

"Why?" asked Tom.

"They're government," Martha told him. "And the government needs UNIT's cooperation. Can't have that if they barbecue me. UNIT would know."

"How do you know what her orders are?" Tom asked, amazed.

"A friend of mine…"

A fourth voice, chimed into the conversation at this point. He'd been standing against a railing, silent until he felt it necessary to speak. Martha and Tom had seen him when they'd come in, but hadn't asked, just yet, who he was. He was a man of about sixty, glasses, a brown serviceman's smock and a knowing look in his eye.

"I still say we should find out who her family is and hold a gun to _their _heads," he said.

"I told you," the Doctor said, scolding. "That's not how I operate."

"You were a hippie back then, and you're even worse now," the man said grumpily.

"I was not a hippie!" the Doctor insisted.

"You were always about the _not kiling_ and the _co-existing_ and all that _give peace a chance_ rubbish. And you dressed like bleeding Liberace," the man teased. "Thought for sure you were a poof."

"Charming," the Doctor said, one eyebrow doing most of the talking.

"Now you're… what, Casanova, twenty-first century?" The man was smirking, looking the Doctor up and down. He looked at Martha. "Inn'he pretty?"

"What, the suit?" The Doctor defensively pulled his coat down and smoothed it out. "It's just a suit. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing," the man chuckled. "Bit snug, though, innit?"

"Okay, okay, enough," the Doctor dismissed, as the man laughed wickedly. "I'll not be taking anymore fashion tips from you. You have three Ph.D.'s in astrophysics, quantum-mechanics and aerospace communications, and you still choose to wear that stupid smock."

"So what? I'm a glorified maintenance man."

"Whatever. You just leave my suits out of it, yeah?" The Doctor sighed heavily. "Martha Jones, Tom Milligan, meet Ed Dekker."

"Charmed," Dekker said, bowing slightly.

"He's more than a glorified maintenance man," the Doctor said, mostly to Martha. "He's a tech genie."

"Meh," Dekker shrugged. "I dabble."

"Well, you've gone a bit retro at this point, but I reckon you were the first person in Britain to make the connection, yeah?" asked the Doctor.

"I don't like to brag, but yes," Dekker confessed. "Just like back then, we're calling it the 456 'cause it's on that frequency."

"Well, _we're_ calling them the SharKann 'cause that's their name."

"I told Frobisher about it, and officially, not even UNIT had worked it out yet. Officially."

"What did I tell you?" the Doctor said to Martha. "Man on the front lines."

Dekker crossed his arms across his chest and looked sceptically at the Time Lord, suspicious of the flattery. "Okay, GQ. What do you want?"

"You know."

"You want in."

"Yep," the Doctor said, popping the P.

Dekker sighed heavily. "Who am I supposed to tell them you are?"

"He's UNIT," Martha said, half-shrugging, half whining. "I'll vouch for him . They didn't want to kill me, it means they'll still listen to UNIT."

"Jack could vouch for you as being in Torchwood," Tom suggested, trying to be helpful.

The Doctor looked at him, surprised. He'd forgotten Tom was there, frankly, and wasn't that impressed with him in any case, even apart from the fact that he had hurt Martha terribly. And it wasn't that his suggestion was bad, it was just that in the Doctor's world, in the inner circle, humans are extraordinary. It wasn't every day that he was confronted with someone of ordinary intelligence, an ordinary disposition, there, in the war room with the Doctor and his genius flock. Someone whom he couldn't just shove in a corner and tell off until the smoke cleared. Well, he could, but given the circumstances, he reckoned it would be bad form. If he were stuck on a space truck with Tom Milligan, Citizen of the Earth, he'd be telling him to shut up and try not to get in the way. But he wasn't. He was in his own home, hosting Tom Milligan, Martha's ex, the man who had immediately preceded (and succeeded, in a way) him in the procession of Martha Jones' romantic endeavours. The Doctor couldn't help but look at him through red-tinged eyes. This wanker had had _his _girl, and _he _hadn't yet! Ugh, humanity is rubbish! Still, in the course of human relations, especially British human relations, politeness is everything, less is more, blah, blah, blah.

"Don't be daft," Martha said, cutting across, and echoing the Doctor's thoughts. "That's why we're in this mess! They're hunting down Torchwood. They already think the Doctor's Torchwood, if they haven't already worked out who he really is… and anyway, If Jack got within a hundred yards of a government building right now, he'd be blown to smithereens. And I don't think they'd hesitate to waste any one of us, even me, to get at Jack, given what he knows about this alien thing."

"Okay, okay," Tom said, hands up, disarming. "Just a suggestion. You'll have to forgive me, I haven't been doing this cloak and dagger stuff for as long as you have. This is only my second hour. It's going to take me a little while catch up, all right?"

Martha shrugged. She wasn't conceding anything to Tom, even though she knew she'd been a bit harsh. For his part, the Doctor was a little disappointed that Tom had admitted he was clueless. It made it harder to scoff at him mentally and call him immature names in his head. He wasn't yet ready to accept Tom as a decent human being, apart from some very bad habits. He was enjoying thinking of him as a lost cause, someone from whom Martha needed rescuing. Well, Martha never really needed rescuing, she just wasn't that kind, but he could tell that she was happy for the respite from loneliness, from the chaos Tom had caused. Not that the Doctor could guarantee that he wouldn't bring chaos to Martha's life. He had already wrought so much havoc on her and her family, but he knew that he was not a Tom. He knew that _he_…

"Doctor? Hello?" Martha was saying. She'd caught him staring into space, trying to be alone with certain thoughts in a very crowded mind.

"Hm? Oh, sorry," he said, inhaling and exhaling quickly. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. Where were we?"

"How are we going to get you into Thames House?" Dekker asked him.

"Oh, is that where it's happening?" the Doctor said. "Gee, I wish I'd called you first. I've got the Torchwood team on the run tracking down the chemicals."

"Oh, very clever," Dekker said. "But now you can redirect them, eh?"

"Indeed," the Doctor said, walking toward the TARDIS door.

"Doctor, where are you going?" Martha asked, in a _what the hell do you think you're doing_ sort of way. Her tone did not register much with the Doctor, but Tom sure caught it. He tried to feel glad that it was no longer his problem. It was an effort.

"I'm… er, going back to the hub," the Doctor said, gesturing with his thumb, a little bewildered by the question.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, tilting her head, indicating Tom.

"What?" asked the Doctor.

She shifted her weight uncomfortably. "Resort planet? Get him out of harm's way? Ring a bell?"

"Oh, that," the Doctor said. "Well, we're not going to do that."

"Why not?"

"We might need him."

"I need him gone," she insisted.

"Thanks," Tom muttered.

She looked at him coldly. "No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to have sarcastic righteous indignation, so you just zip it. I can't work with you."

"You won't have to," the Doctor said.

* * *

Four people stepped out of the TARDIS into the Torchwood hub, two of whom Jack had never seen. He was standing at the examining table in the med bay, heaped with special Torchwood-issue gas masks. The others were lined up across the balcony above, looking down.

"Er, hi," he said to his friends, eyeing the strangers.

"Okay, here we go," the Doctor said. One by one, he pointed to the Torchwood staff and their accomplices. "Jack, Gwen, Ianto, they're Torchwood. Rhys and Rupesh, spouse and new recruit respectively. And in this corner, we have Edwin Dekker and Tom Milligan. I'll let you decide who's who. Now, where were we?" The Doctor bounded up the stairs toward the computer terminals, leaving everyone to watch and try to follow.

"Er, okay," Jack said, turning very slowly toward the newcomers. "Welcome. I guess."

"Would you like some coffee?" Ianto offered.

Tom refused, Dekker accepted. Ianto disappeared for a few moments.

"Mr. Dekker," Jack said, shaking the older man's hand. "And Tom. Hmph. What brings you here?" His tone was icy, and he folded his arms across his chest. He had no idea why Martha and Tom had split, but he knew whose side he was on.

"Johnson came after him," Martha said. "And talk about a short fuse."

"And why is he not currently cooling his heels on a resort planet with the rest of our people?"

"No idea," Martha said, shrugging big. "The Doctor has plans for him."

"Don't like the sound of that," Tom muttered. "Got plans for me. Teleport that bloody thing to Siberia and drop me there."

Martha sighed. "Just… don't get in the way, okay?"

They headed up the stairs, Dekker first, then Jack, then Tom, with Martha trailing. Tom turned his head sideways and said, "So that's Jack, eh? I'm beginning to think I was worried about the wrong bloke."

"No, you were worried about the right one," Martha said. "Doesn't make it any more true, however."

"Yeah, yeah."

They all gathered round the cluster of computers again, while the Doctor, once more, sat in the middle and held court. "What have we learned, children?"

"Sorry to report," Ianto said reluctantly, returning with coffee for Dekker. "Couldn't find the chemicals, sir. Not a trace. Are you certain of the composition?"

"Ugh, don't call me sir," the Doctor said. "But yes, of course I'm certain. I'm always certain. Well, not always, but mostly. Well, not mostly, but..."

"Not surprised you couldn't track it," Dekker shrugged, speaking smugly to Ianto, as though he were a child, or at least a novice computer hacker. "The government's looking for people to be following them, aren't they? They know, certain blokes like our friend the Doctor here, in-the-know, tracking those chemicals, watching for odd deliveries. They've done something wrong, and they know it, which makes them the most paranoid people in existence. They've got every communication cloaked, every parcel disguised, every lorry and packing label and printed manifest in code, every person involved has a security clearance – they're ready. You're not dealing with your mum and dad's government anymore."

"Oh, come on, give the boy a little credit," the Doctor defended. "This is Torchwood, Dekker. You're not dealing with the underground hacker cells from your day anymore." The Doctor echoed Dekker's self-righteous words and tone.

"The point is," Dekker said, dodging the issue. "The 456 is coming to Thames House, top floor. We're building an aquarium-like habitat for them. Or it. Whatever."

"What have they got in the way of teleport detectors, alien tech monitors, that sort of thing?" the Doctor asked.

Dekker's eyes lit up. "Oh, I see! Nothing I can't handle. Oh, this is way better than sneaking you in! I love this bit, the electronic espionage."

"It's not espionage, it's breaking and entering," the Doctor corrected. "Much less serious offence. And not even breaking, just entering. Much, much less serious."

"In any case, be easier if I had a sonic device, you know, to get me through those super-tough encryptions," Dekker said, smirking.

"You'll get your hands on that over my dead body," the Doctor shot back, not missing a beat. "So how long will it take you to disarm it? The old-fashioned way, I mean."

"Don't know," Dekker said. "I wasn't thinking about it, I was too busy wondering how I was going to get you past Giant Gerard, the security guard downstairs whose neck is thicker than your waist."

"Can you access schematics of the building?" asked the Doctor.

"Sure thing," Dekker said, moving toward a computer.

They gathered round and got the virtual tour.

* * *

"What do we do now?" asked Gwen.

"Well, it's currently fifteen-twelve, GMT," the Doctor said. "We need to be on full alert in eight hours, with our heads in the game and no arse-dragging. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long, long day. I say we try to get some rest."

"You want us to sleep? Now?" Rupesh asked.

"Yes," the Doctor said forcefully. "The SharKann are coming to Britain sometime on 8th July. We have no idea at what hour. Or do we?" He looked at Dekker.

"Not yet," Dekker told him. "I'd have let you know if we did."

"Okay then. That's a twenty-four hour window. Go find a corner of the world, and sleep. Pretend like you've just had the most exhausting day and a half of your life. Jack, can you find accommodation for everyone?"

"Well, yeah. What about sleep-aids?" asked Jack.

"I'll leave that up to personal discretion, but I think I'll pass," said the Doctor.

"Okay," Jack said, thinking. "Erm, anyone who wants a sleeping pill, they're in my office."

"Just make sure you're bright-eyed and bushy tailed when the time comes," the Doctor warned. "No medicine heads, we can't afford it."

"Tom, you can have the green sofa. I'll find you a blanket. Rupesh, office. Gwen and Rhys…" Jack began.

"We'll get by in the conference room," Gwen said. "No problem."

"Fine. Ianto, you're with me, and you two," he said, looking at the Doctor and Martha. "I'll assume you have your own suite?"

"Assume away," the Doctor told him, non-committal. "Okay, team, get some rest. Set your alarms for twenty-three hundred hours. Eleven p.m. That gives you an hour to get up and pull yourselves together before we have to get serious. We'll reconvene back here, in this spot, just before midnight."

"Yes, sir," Jack said, saluting. "Everyone, you heard the man."

"Dekker, it's back to London with you. Got to get a jump on things," the Doctor said. "Come on."

"No rest for the wicked," Dekker muttered. "Nice meeting you all."

"Wait," Tom said timidly. "Erm, Doctor? I'm grateful that you and Martha came to my rescue and all, and I'd hate to have you think I'm complaining but…"

"What the hell are you doing here?" the Doctor completed his thought for him.

"Yeah."

"You're going to help."

"Well, yeah. But how?"

"You're going to do what you do best," the Doctor said, slapping Tom on the shoulder. "Save the children."


	15. DAY TWO:  Part IX

DAY TWO: Part IX

The Doctor saw Dekker off in London, just across from Thames House. When he turned back, Martha was leaning against a railing, staring intently at the floor.

"Well, alone again at last," he said, clapping his hands together, and coming back up the ramp. He approached her, came close and examined her unmoving face. Now was the time when they settled in for the non-existent night. What was she feeling, now it was time to get some sleep, and/or decide one more time just how _together_ they wanted to be right now? "Having second thoughts?" he asked.

"About what?" she said, her lips barely moving.

"Anything," he muttered like a child. "Well, me. Us. Being here instead of... somewhere else."

He gulped a little, in spite of the fact that he knew that _this was __Martha_. Martha Jones. The very same Martha Jones who had chased after him, in every possible way, for a year. She had walked away from a life of adventure and mayhem, from saving planets, from doing more good than she could ever hope to do on this little world of hers, just because she felt claustrophobic within her own feelings of love. Because that love, it never went anywhere, it just hung in the air, unmoving, unreturned, unacknowledged until the two of them were practically breathing it, and she couldn't stand it anymore.

So, he really wasn't afraid she'd say _yes_, that she was having second thoughts about being here. But a man in love is irrational, and irrationally, Tom's presence in their inner sanctum was messing with his mind. Too bad Tom wasn't a bricklayer or an accountant, or someone else who would be useless in a crisis involving children. Anything _but _a paediatrician, really. But no. Had to be all _potentially useful_ and stuff. They had to keep him around, because that's what the Doctor did: sized up his resources and kept them handy for later.

"No," she said, looking up. "Not having second thoughts. Never. Just feeling a bit sorry for him, in spite of myself. I know that probably makes me a complete moron, but I can't seem to shake it."

"It doesn't make you a moron," he said. "It makes you a compassionate human being, the very thing that keeps me fighting for this little planet of yours."

"Are you feeling it too?"

"Nope," he said. "But I, as you may recall, have never loved him."

"I suppose. No attachment, no feeling..."

"Did you? Love him, I mean."

She sighed. "Yeah. I mean, not like…" she met his eye, then let it go when he smiled at her. "Not even close. But I did love him in a very _normal_ sort of way."

"Then, I understand why _you_ feel sorry for him, even if I don't."

"Dazzle me, then," she said, crossing her arms in a challenge. "Tell me what I'm feeling, if you know so much, Time Lord."

"You're thinking that he knows he screwed up, and is flogging himself, is feeling the full brunt of his idiocy, dealing with all of us today," the Doctor said. And then his tone turned slightly less sombre, and he smiled a bit. "And as if that weren't enough, the woman he was engaged to less than a month ago just disappeared inside an intimate-looking box with a dashing, if eccentric, interstellar hero with whom she has an intense, adrenaline-soaked, semi-romantic past. How am I doing so far?"

She smiled. "Frighteningly well."

"Mm-hm. And the poor bloke, once we park the TARDIS back in the hub, he's going to lie there wide awake for the next few hours listening for the wooden box to start creaking, thinking we're happy to rub it in. There will be nowhere for him to hide, nor escape to. He knows he can't leave, he knows he can't come knock on the door... and if he never hears anything, that will be even worse."

She nodded. "I just don't want to be insensitive. Even if he deserves it."

"I could say that you are a lot of things, Martha, but insensitive is not one of them," he said, walking toward her. He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "Fortunately, it's not going to come up, because we have a little errand to run before we can settle down for the afternoon anyhow. We won't go back to Torchwood until everyone's up."

"Lovely. Is that what those are for?" Martha asked, indicating a couple of Torchwood's gas masks, which the Doctor had taken before leaving to drop Mr. Dekker back off in London.

"Yes," he told her, letting go, backing away. "Just… bear with me. Five minutes, then we can park this boat in whatever ocean you like."

* * *

"What are you looking at?" Martha asked, while the Doctor was staring at the computer screen on the console.

"The history of the SharKann," he said. "I'm just making sure I've got my dates right."

"Dates of what?"

"Oh," he sighed, burying his right hand in his hair. He stood up straight and looked at her. "Have I ever explained to you about fixed points in time?"

"That Jack is one of them?" she said.

"Well yeah, there's that. But no, that's not quite what I mean," he said. "Some moments, some events are just _fact_. I've travelled through time and space for nine hundred odd years, putting out fires, saving lives…_ changing history _in some cases, because it seems like the thing to do. I'm a little bit of a rogue, as far as Time Lords go. We're not really supposed to do that. But, Martha… but some of those fires, they _have _to burn, because the future depends upon it. Those moments can't be stopped or changed without huge consequences on the whole of the space-time continuum. Great turning-points in history must take place in order to carry the course of that history forward. Even if they are tragic, even if people die… they must be."

"Okay. I'm with you so far."

"Well, part of my grave and unique lot in life is to know the difference between those moments and all the others. Throughout the universe, throughout time. It's part of what and who I am."

"I see."

"Fortunately, though," he said, his voice livening a bit. "I'm the only one left. If the Time Lords were in charge of these things, that means I'm now the boss. If I fiddle about with history, who's going to come and drag me off to time-traveller's prison?"

He went back to the screen, and in a few moments, he let out a cry of delight, pleased with himself, that he'd got his dates right.

_Dates right. Fixed points. Fiddling with history. Blimey._

"Doctor, are you thinking of doing something you might regret?" she asked, her face contorted a bit.

"Honestly?" he said. "Yeah, I am."

With that, he flipped a switch and the TARDIS jolted them to some location unknown to Martha, but as usual in these cases, she grabbed hold of something and got ready for a bumpy ride.

Unfortunately, she wasn't holding on nearly hard enough because when the TARDIS flipped upside-down, then completed the three-sixty turn, the jolt threw them both against the ceiling, and back down again. She screamed as her head narrowly missed the jagged edge of one of the exposed ends of the pipe rail surrounding the console. The Doctor's body hit the wall across, and landed limply on the floor. Much to her relief, he looked up straight away, and said, "All right?"

"May have bruised a rib, but basically okay," she groaned. "You?"

"Mm," he said, standing up. "Brilliant."

"What the hell was that?" she asked, getting to her feet.

He made his way back to the instruments and pulled the computer screen toward him once again. He typed in some codes, then practically shouted, "It's the SharKann! They're lifting off right now, headed dead in the direction of Earth! That was them! They brushed past us!"

"What?" she shouted back. "The SharKann?"

"Yes, we're right above their planet right now," he explained. "Kann Tatibah, in the galaxy of the Sondeloubli."

"And we almost got run over by a giant spaceship headed for Earth?"

The Doctor groaned. "Two inches to the left and the TARDIS would have been shattered!" He closed his eyes for a few seconds to get his bearings, then shook it off. "Seriously, are you all right?"

"Fine," she said. "Just… really, they're leaving _now_?"

"Yes," the Doctor told her. "But that's a good thing!"

"How is that a good thing?" she wanted to know. She was trying, though unsuccessfully, to keep the panic out of her voice. "We thought we had at least another eight hours!"

"We do," the Doctor said. "We're across the universe. Without teleportation, the SharKann have, roughly, a twenty-three hour trip from here. They'll reach Earth at about two-thirty tomorrow afternoon. That gives us a pretty solid ETA, which we didn't have before."

"Wow," Martha said. "Maybe we should go wake everyone up."

"Nah, let them sleep," the Doctor said. "It's better this way. That way, we'll have a good fourteen-hour jump on things by the time they arrive at Thames House."

The TARDIS gears groaned once more, and Martha could feel the vessel moving a bit more smoothly now.

"Now where?" she asked.

"Same place, different time."

* * *

The TARDIS door creaked open. "Got to oil that thing," the Doctor whispered, stepping out carefully, looking side to side through the specialized super-impermeable lens of a gas mask.

"Yes, that was my first concern, too," Martha whispered back, through her own mask, as he took her hand.

They shut the door behind them, and looked round. They seemed to be in a very old castle, cold and damp, grey and narrow. The corridor was oppressive and contained only firelight. Martha shivered.

He squeezed her hand, and said, "Don't worry. This will take five minutes, tops. Just get ready to run."

"Get ready to run," Martha chirped. "Must be back with the Doctor again."

"Mm," he said, by way of comment.

"Where the hell are we?" she wanted to know.

"Kann Tatibah, planet of the SharKann. This is the castle of the SharKann royal family."

They tiptoed to their right about ten yards, and when they reached a fork, they took the left.

"How do you know where you're going?" Martha asked softly.

"The TARDIS has the schematics of the structure in its database," he answered. "I looked at it before we exited, now I'm going from memory. I _think_ we're going the right direction."

He led her through several twists and turns, down a few identical hallways, across a bridge that spanned over a great common area, perhaps a dining room. Though it was hard to tell, since the SharKann were not humanoid and if they sat in chairs, they didn't look like your average Brancusi classic.

Then the passages began to open up, wider and wider, until they found themselves coming through the mouth of a fire-lit corridor into a large, open-air forum. It looked like a place where, normally, many beings would be bustling about for various reasons, in different directions. It reminded Martha of the sweeping avenues of Florence. Three large wooden doors loomed across the space, peaked at the top by gentle gothic arches.

The Doctor whispered, "Damn, I'm good. Today's the day when the front courtyard was attacked by the ThurKann, and all available Guardians of the Protected Family were called to the scene, leaving these three doors unattended for exactly seven minutes and forty-eight seconds."

Martha stared at him with disbelief and confusion. "Seriously? You got us into a seven-minute window?"

"Well, seven minutes and forty-eight seconds."

"So, when are we?" she asked.

"Oh, a hundred and twelve years back from where we were," he said. "Give or take. On Earth right now, it's about 1897 or so. But obviously, this planet measures time differently…"

"Are you going to explain… ever?"

"Yes. But, shh. Come on," he whispered. "I don't know how much of that seven-forty-eight we have, so we have to move."

They crossed the open air plaza, and the Doctor sonicked open the middle door. They stepped into another narrow, oppressive space. It was a tiny room, dank, damp and rather medieval like the place where the TARDIS had been parked. In the centre of the room, there was a small wooden structure held together with two x-es, like a TV tray. At the top, something that looked to be a cross between a straw hat and a coconut lay on a flat wooden plank.

It was the shape of an American football, though twice as large. It was brown and sort of fuzzy, though it had pieces of what looked like hay sticking out of all sides. It reminded Martha of when one grows tendrils out of the eyes of a potato, and keeps it in a jar.

It pulsed, which was nauseating to Martha. It indicated, clearly, that the thing was alive, which shouldn't be disgusting. But something about this particular alive thing made her decidedly nervous.

"What is that?" she asked.

"What we came for," the Doctor answered. "Grab that, will you."

She looked at where he was pointing, and saw a little black cone-shaped thing standing on the plank beside the coconut-straw thing. She swiped it and shoved it in her pocket, having no idea what it was.

"Okay, ready?" the Doctor asked, putting out his arms. "On three. One! Two! Three, run!"

On three, he'd scooped up the coconut thing in his arms and begun dashing in the way they'd come. An alarm sounded, and suddenly, Martha and the Doctor could hear a myriad of footsteps coming at them from a plethora of different directions. She heard voices, shouting, the unmistakable cocking of weaponry.

Martha never looked back, though she knew that there were thugs of the highest order chasing and gaining. The disgusting panting she could hear behind her was the exertion of a SharKann, probably a guardian, a member of the species holding _her _species by the throat in the year 2009. They ran for their lives, and reached the TARDIS in short order, shutting this world, and others, out behind them.

"What did we just do?" asked Martha, breathless as the TARDIS gears fired up in response to shouting from guards outside the TARDIS. The Doctor dumped the brown fuzzy thing on the navigator's chair and threw up the defences just in time to hear weapons discharging against the forcefield outside.

"Got ourselves some insurance," answered the Doctor.


	16. DAY TWO:  Part X

DAY TWO: Part X

The TARDIS was parked on a random rooftop in Cardiff, looking out over the bay. The Doctor and Martha were in the infirmary of the vessel.

Martha's skin was crawling.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he attended to the artifact they'd stolen. He didn't even have to look up – he could tell by her breathing, her entire tightened demeanour, that something was bothering her.

"Well," Martha said, trying to sound casual. "To the untrained eye, it would appear that we're poisoning a coconut."

He looked up at her as if to say _don't be so daft_, and didn't reply.

She continued, "That's fine. I mean, I've seen you do stranger things."

"We're incubating an egg sac," he told her. "It will die in this atmosphere. Dekker's building the aquarium from hell for them in Thames House, we made one here. Only tiny."

Martha cocked her head to one side and peered into the plastic tank. Now that the Doctor mentioned it, it did look like an incubator for a newborn. Except it was airtight and teeming with poisonous gases. She had to admit, the throbbing coconut had taken on a much healthier hue of brown since he'd put it in there – it had begun to go a bit grey while they were fleeing from the SharKann. And according to the Doctor, the SharKann were time travellers because they were clever, but their constitutions weren't really meant to handle an atmosphere of temporal instability.

She wondered what they were doing with it, but it didn't occur to her to ask. Something else was on her mind. Currently they were in the infirmary of the TARDIS, but where would they go from here?

She backed up and leaned against a countertop. She couldn't stop herself from sighing.

He looked up again. "What's wrong now?"

She didn't want to tell the truth, so she defaulted to the usual.

"You know, I think I'm going to see if I can get hold of my parents," she said. "Can I use your phone?"

"Good idea," he said, digging in his pocket. He handed over her old mobile and said, "I guess it's time someone checked on that lot. Get a full report, would you, so we can let everyone else know their people are all right?"

"Sure thing."

"And Martha?"

"Yes?"

"It's okay – I'm a little nervous about the sleeping arrangements, too."

"Is it that obvious?"

"I know you, Martha Jones."

She wandered back into the console room and dialled the last number the Doctor had programmed in. It was Alice Carter's mobile phone. That would be Alice Carter, Captain Jack's daughter. Martha chuckled at the prospect once again.

* * *

Martha looked at the clock on the TARDIS' main display. 16:37, GMT, on Tuesday, 7 July, 2009. The Doctor was still off somewhere with the artifact stolen from the SharKann's royal household.

He sauntered slowly back into the console room, his hands in his pockets, and, Martha noticed, his tie having disappeared. They looked at each other across the dim light, over the thousands of controls and knobs and toggles, and both of them smiled softly.

"How is everyone?" he asked.

"Fine," she said. "Alice and my parents have worked out that they're not on Earth anymore, and my mum is a basket case for it, but everyone else is blissfully confused. So all is well. "

"Glad to hear it. I mean the _all is well_ part. Not the part about the basket case."

"Meh, she's my mum, you know how she is," Martha quipped. Then she added, "I think forty-eight hours is just right, though. Alice says Rhiannon and Johnny are talking about exploring outside the resort tomorrow."

"Okay," he said. "Duly noted. Working with a deadline. It's what I do best."

"Is it asleep? The coconut?" she asked. She didn't know if it _could _sleep, but it seemed like the thing to ask.

He shrugged. "More or less. It's safe, that's the important thing."

"Safe from us, or are we safe from it?"

"It's safe from the atmosphere of the TARDIS and the Earth, and it poses no threat to us."

"Okay," she said uneasily.

"Why? Does it make you nervous?"

"Yes."

"Well, until it hatches, it's just an egg. It's about, oh, I'd say eighteen months along, and the SharKann gestation is upwards of three years. So unless the global chanting crisis takes a lot longer than I think it will…"

"It's the pulsing," she told him, shuddering. "It's like a disembodied beating heart, only hairy and huge."

He chuckled. "That just means it's healthy."

"Ick."

He reached out for her hand, and she took it.

"Shall we get some rest?" he asked.

She nodded, and they headed for the hallways that led to the rest of the TARDIS.

The Doctor cleared his throat, and said, "I will be sleeping in my own room tonight. I haven't had a chance to clean out your old room, but there's always the observatory where we were last night. Really, you're welcome in any room you'd like to settle into - I'll leave the decision up to you." His voice was low and even, though Martha could feel his palm sweating.

She smiled mischievously, somewhat relishing the situation of their roles having switched a bit. "Is that your incredibly gentlemanly way of asking if I'm going to sleep with you?"

"Oi!" he said, smiling himself, stopping in the hall to face her. "I, at least, had the decency to be all coy and cute about it. Where are you blundering in from, Dr. Jones?"

"You want coy?" She put her hands on her hips and looked at him with a mock scolding. "You know, you cheeky thing, we haven't even been out on a date yet."

"We went out dancing in 1969, remember?" he asked.

"Yes, but we wound up in the basement disarming a bomb," she reminded him.

"Oh yeah. What about when we went ice skating?" They began walking again, still hand-in-hand.

"Had to leave early," she told him. "Remember?"

"That's right," he said, clicking his fingers. "That big guy with the… flecks. He kept trying to get your number."

"And yours!"

"Yeah, I've chosen to block that part out," he muttered.

"Oh, but then there was the Crystal Scarlet Lake on Omadullah 9," she mused. "That was very romantic."

"It was?"

"Yes," she assured him. "It was. A lake-side dinner? Please! You made me wear that purple dress with the suede shoes, and you wore a tux, and you ordered pear champagne and musicians!"

"It wasn't pear, it was the native fruit lopunda. If it were pear, I wouldn't have come within a hundred yards of it!"

"Whatever. I'm just saying it was the most romantic night of my life. I had butterflies in my stomach the whole evening."

"Really?" he asked. "Wish I'd known."

"Me too! You kept dipping those sea creature things in buttered sauces and feeding them to me with your fingers!"

"I was just taking advantage of the planet's best bits," he told her.

"Did you have to be so…_ tactile_?"

"I wanted you to experience everything to the fullest. Their seafood is the best I've ever tasted, and the chefs of the Scarlet region are just amazing. I was just showing off like always."

"Yeah, well, put yourself in my state of mind at the time," she told him.

"Ah. Sorry."

"Hoping, hoping, constantly hoping," she said. "The fact that you knew what you wanted me to wear… I was daft enough to think it was a sign that you…"

After a pause. "That I what?"

"You know."

"A sign that I what? Specifically, what did you think?"

"Doctor…"

"No, I'm serious. Talk to me, please. You've spent enough time keeping your feelings from me, Martha. I want to get inside your head. I want to know all of this so I can fix it," he told her, rather earnestly. "You thought it was a sign that I loved you."

"Well, maybe not yet," she admitted. "I hoped that love would come in time. But I thought that maybe you'd decided… you wanted me."

"I was an idiot."

Without really noticing, the two of them had taken the route leading to the Doctor's bedroom. Now they stood outside.

"Yeah, but so was I. D'you know, I even…" she stopped herself and stepped away from him. She leaned against the wall beside the high arched door and sighed.

"You even what?"

"Nothing, it's silly. So, so silly."

"Tell me."

She looked up at him with glassy eyes. "I even wore some…" she covered her face with her hand. "Naughty underwear." She muttered it into her hand, but he understood perfectly.

The Doctor's mouth dropped open, and he couldn't help but let a little choked laugh escape.

"You know, just in case!" she said, shrugging with both hands, then covering her face again.

"How naughty, exactly?" he asked, with a big, amazed, goofy smile.

She gaped at him.

"Just fascinated, is all," he said, his grin having run to giddy. "So… tell!"

"Ugh," she groaned, her face in her hands again. "Black lace. And not much of it. That's all you get."

"Wow!" he exclaimed, facing the ceiling and walking in a little circle. "That… that is… Martha, that's just… bloody brilliant, that is!"

"Not brilliant," she corrected. "Silly. Bloody silly."

"No, no," he said, taking her hands from her face, holding them.

"Yes, yes," she said. "Because I knew it would cause me pain, deep down. Doing something like that… by then, I knew. I just didn't want to face it entirely. I knew I'd wind up climbing out of that black lace at the end of the night, peeling it off myself, feeling…" she shuddered and closed her eyes, resting her head against the wall. Her hands were still in his.

"Feeling what?" he asked. "Martha, you'll have to start finishing your sentences on a more regular basis."

"Feeling… just feeling. Feeling you. Or the absence of you," she tried to explain quietly, eyes still shut. "Feeling that thing that you feel when you lie down alone."

"Loneliness?"

"Yes, but also that other thing," she said. Then she opened her eyes and stared a hole in him. "Do you know what it was like for me when you were feeding me those shrimp things?"

"How do you mean?"

"What it was like for me to have your fingers sliding in and out of my mouth," she whispered, her eyes and mouth slack.

She'd given him a chill that started at the back of his neck and spread like a bolt of lightning throughout his entire body. Though, he said, "They were just fingers."

"Yes, but they were _your_ fingers, Doctor. In my mouth. They tasted like _you_. Do you understand?"

"I can only imagine what that was like," he whispered back. "Although, let's see."

He raised her hand, and took two of her fingers and slid them into his mouth slowly, then back out again. He closed his eyes and exhaled softly, a deep groan escaping as her fingertips passed out through his lips.

When he opened his eyes, she was staring back, lips still slack, eyes narrow. "See?" she managed.

"Starting to." With those husky words, he did it again, sliding Martha's tiny, lithe fingers between his lips. He let them linger this time, sucked at them tasted the salt, took in her scent, let his senses be flooded with her.

Her eyes fixated on his mouth, the lips that had driven her to distraction ever since she'd met this infuriating man. A combination of sensations was travelling through her body and pooling in her stomach. She could feel heat rising everywhere, her body catching fire as the Doctor's tongue teased at her skin.

"To have the taste of you in my mouth," she said, her voice catching, ragged. "And you looking in my eyes, waiting for a reaction, waiting for me to respond with pleasure."

He gave another little groan as her fingers left his mouth once again, responding with pleasure as her words had indicated. He was remembering the little moans she'd given, tasting the native seafood. "As I recall, you did respond."

"Of course I did – you were making me want you so badly, I was weak. I could only respond with sighs. Over and over again, you did that."

"I did."

"I had to hold some of it in, though. To react with how I _really_ felt would have been… well, un-British of me, to say the least." Her voice was low, just above a whisper, almost a sigh.

"Mm," he sighed, leaning against her, dipping his head down to kiss her neck just below the ear. He grazed her skin softly, making her melt.

"To have butter dripping everywhere, over your fingers and wrist, my lips and chin, it was a mess," she continued. "And then to watch you… lick your fingers, lick your lips…"

"Yes?"

"I fixated on it," she said, beginning to feel her breath leave her. "Your lips and tongue, and my body alive…"

"Yes," he whispered. He leaned forward and kissed her neck very lightly. "I see it all now. How could you cope?"

Her breath caught in her throat as his lips moved round sporadically over her neck, beneath her ear.

"I was…" she moaned. "Very disciplined. Used to holding back."

"I don't want you to hold back anymore," he hissed in her ear, licking her flesh.

She almost passed out from the assault of heat. "I couldn't even if I wanted to. Not now."

"Can I have a second chance to give you a sign that I want you?" he asked. Just then, he pressed his entire body into her, and she could feel he'd grown hard below the waist. She needed no other sign.

"You can have as many chances as you want," she told him. "But I thought you wanted to wait 'til the world was safe."

"There's always some world, somewhere…"

"Open this door," she demanded.


	17. DAY TWO:  Part XI

DAY TWO: Part XI

Martha's mum had an Uncle Henry, with whom she'd been quite close. His vocation had been as a bus driver, but he'd devoted his free time, for at least forty years, to studying jazz music. He taught himself to improvise on the piano, loved listening to the greats: Louis Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespie, Billie Holliday…

But his favourite was Lady Ella. Ella Fitzgerald. He studied her every note, obsessed over his record collection, followed her life in the news, wrote fan mail, drove his family bonkers with minutiae and trivia. His fondest desire was to see Ella in concert, and dare he hope to meet her… but she rarely performed in Europe, and Uncle Henry struggled with money his entire life. No chance of travelling to the U.S. to catch a glimpse, so he resigned himself never to be able to see her live, and was more or less content to live vicariously.

When Uncle Henry had his 70th birthday in 1992, the Jones family bought six plane tickets to California to see a rare live performance by Ella. In the days and weeks leading up to the trip, Henry talked about the perfect experience, lectured his niece and her family on what he deemed to be proper protocol. There would be no taking pictures. There would be no talking. No unduly loud clapping or hooting or whistling. He was going to wear his best blue suit with his only expensive handkerchief peeking out the pocket. He'd have a Windsor knot in his tie, definitely a red tie. They were all to wear their Sunday best, and be on their best behaviour. Even in the concert hall, he fussed over his handkerchief, his necktie, Tish and Martha's dresses, got angry over "disrespectful" types of applause, et cetera, et cetera.

When they boarded the plane back home the next day, he had a catatonic look on his face, which didn't really leave him until several days after they'd returned to London.

He lived another eight years – Martha was sixteen when he passed. About a week before his death, Martha and her mum were sitting with him in hospital, and he told them a secret.

"I waited forty years to see Ella," he said. "Thought about it non-stop for four decades. And I wasted it. No pictures, no talking, no whistling. No stepping out of line, everything perfect. But do you know what? Jazz music was all about stepping out of line, not obsessing over the proper details. They want us to whistle and holler and misbehave. And I wanted to. Oh, I wish we had a photo to share, to show we were there. I wish I'd got on my feet and stomped and clapped. I wish I'd shared that experience with you, instead of making you sit still and not say a word. And you know what? I don't remember the performance. I didn't engage – I just let it happen in its perfect way, and it passed me right by. Something I wanted for so long, and I don't remember a thing. I wish I'd been just a little bit audacious, you see? I wish I'd even been cheeky enough, had the guts to try and get backstage to see her. I wish I had stirred the pot, yelled out her name, let her know I was there, did something so that I would _feel_ the room, feel her, and maybe I'd still feel it today…"

* * *

Far from California, far from being that sixteen-year-old, far from a jazz hall, Martha was in a room inside a spaceship parked in Cardiff, where everything was quiet and perfect. Every move was as she'd imagined, every thought in her head was running to her fantasies, and how this moment was capturing them. The Doctor's mouth was on hers, wandering over her chin and neck. His hands were snaking up the back of her tank top, burning her skin with his touch. She was sinking into him, letting him lead her. From the moment when he had put her fingers in his mouth, just outside the door, it had been a kind of euphoria to her, a druken swirling in which she was more than happy to immerse herself. She had waited so long for this, and her body was telling her _now_.

As he continued to let his lips engage hers, continued to tease at her mouth with his tongue, he wrapped his arm around her waist. He was strong, and she felt safety and admiration and arousal all at once. Then she felt something nudge against the back of her knees.

_The bed. How did it get there? How did _we_ get _here_?_ _I remember hearing the door open and shut, and for a few moments I was pressed against it, and he was pressed against me, and I could feel him, how much he wants me . He was moaning, and that was gorgeous, so I moaned back. I remember his voice echoed in my head as I was thinking _Doctor… Doctor… Doctor… _this is _my_ Doctor, after all this time… his hands on me, kissing me all over, his breath in my ear… and now we're here. And oh, suddenly my shirt is off. Blimey, he's smooth. When did he do that?_

Her eyes flew open. She pressed her hands against the Doctor's chest and pushed gently.

"What's wrong?" he asked, visibly nervous.

Martha didn't answer, but looked around thebedroom. She took in her surroundings, tones of gold and dark red, tan and some deep purples. Books everywhere, mahogany furniture, high ceilings, maps on the wall. She had noticed none of this in her haze. Her eyes roved until they came back to rest upon the pair of inquisitive brown eyes looking back at her.

"This is going to be our first time," she said.

"Yeah," he replied.

"We're going to make love."

"Yes."

"Right now. And it's our first time."

His eyes roved about for a second, wondering if he'd missed something. Then he repeated, "Yes."

"After all this time, all the time I've waited for this, longed for it, wanted you…"

"I've waited for this too," he said, leaning down again to kiss her neck.

She chuckled. "No, not as long as me."

"Mm, perhaps not," he moaned, continuing.

"I love you, do you know that?" she asked, softly but not timidly.

"Yes," he said.

"I've loved you since we first flew off together. I've lusted after you since the moment we met. And you gave me nothing. Until yesterday!"

"I'm sorry."

"So if we're going to do this, I want it to be _my_ moment, Doctor," she told him. "I think I've earned it."

"It's fair," he admitted, still talking to her through kisses across her neck and shoulders. "It's you. All about you."

"Good," she growled. She pulled herself away from him and said, "Sit down."

He didn't ask why, and he didn't break eye-contact. He just manoeuvred himself to a place where he could sit upon the bed. He was uncomfortable, and nervous that something bad was about to happen.

But nothing bad happened. Martha crawled up with one knee on either side of him and her bum on his lap. She draped her arms around his shoulders and offered him the bare flesh of her neck and collarbone. He began lightly and judiciously licking, then moving lower and lower across the tops of her breasts.

This had not been a fantasy for her. But it was bloody lovely.

"You made me suffer," she whispered to him. "For years."

"I know."

"You made me sleep alone."

"I know."

"I didn't want to be alone in that bed, Doctor," she moaned.

"Mmm."

"And sometimes I wasn't. You left me in the dark to build a fantasy life with you inside my head."

"A fantasy life…" he said, a little surprised, leaning back on his hands, looking at her.

"It was a perfect life," she told him. She leaned forward against him and whispered in his ear. "You were always patient and gentle, treated every time like the first time."

"Did I?" he gulped.

"Yes. But the rapport was always a fit, like we'd been dancing this dance for ages, and finally fell into each other."

He didn't answer, he just groaned a little when Martha kissed his ear.

"And the time would come, the moment when you would finally press me into this bed and whisper that you want me, love me, and you'd…" She stopped short and noticed his breathing had accelerated even further, as had his heartbeats. "Hundreds and hundreds of times, Doctor, you took me."

"God, Martha…" he whispered.

"Right here in this bed, or in mine. Again and again," she continued. "You were slow, skilled. Knew what to say, knew how to move. Always."

"Stop talking," he hissed.

She ignored him. "You were so, so good," she whispered low, drawing out the last word, making his breathing catch in his throat. "And you always, _always_ made me come."

"Martha, stop," he groaned.

"Sometimes over and over."

"This is bad."

She smirked. "No, it's fantastic. Perfect, in fact. There's that word again…"

"You're making me crazy," he said through gritted teeth.

"Good," she said.

She unbuttoned his jacket and pushed it down his arms, and he discarded it. She pulled his tie loose, then undid the first four buttons of his shirt. She kissed and nipped at his chest, then continued to unbutton, running her hands over the surprisingly solid muscles of his stomach. He flinched a little, and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Being just a little bit audacious."

"Wha…?" he choked out, sucking in a hissed breath as Martha's tongue found one of his nipples.

"Stepping out of line. Misbehaving. The perfect fantasy is over, Doctor," she told him. "'Cause it's taken over my head. I want my body in control now. I want to feel the room. Feel you. Feel it when I'm old and dying."

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, and stood up. She was still in her bra and jeans, and quickly shed them, leaving her eyes gazing into his. His eyes wandered over her body, taking in the pure, clear curves, the flawless brown skin, the alert nipples and lean legs.

She knelt on the floor and ran her hands down his chest and back again. "You are beautiful," she muttered, feeling his skin sail across her fingertips. He gulped out some sort of _thanks_ as her head dipped down and she began licking and kissing his abdominal muscles.

His trousers were straining something fierce by now, the extra girth feeling downright painful inside. Martha's body rubbed against it through his clothes, and all he could do was lean back and moan.

Then her hand went to the bulge and squeezed. He nearly jolted off the bed entirely and she smiled. She undid the button and zip and watched with avidity as the large, eager member emerged. She was fascinated and ran her fingers over it with awe. She had imagined numerous times in startling detail how _this cock_ would feel sliding in, pounding in and out of her, even throbbing and spurting into her. But she had never fantasised about what it would look like or the colour or texture…

Or what it would taste like.

So she took it in her mouth, and the two of them moaned in unison, like a song.

The Doctor, it was true, had not longed for Martha nearly as long as Martha had longed for him. But he'd done plenty of longing lately. He'd imagined he would undress her slowly and carefully, lay her on the bed, kiss her tenderly all over, then move sweetly inside her until they both exploded in mutual release. He thought he would watch with satisfaction as her eyes closed, her mouth opened and her body gave way, and perhaps her lips whispered his name with a hissed sort of passion and urgency.

He had never imagined _this_.

"This _is_ just a little bit audacious," he croaked out as her tongue made his vision go blurry.

"Mm-hm," she agreed, her mouth sliding backwards, then down once more. She felt him him pushing against her throat, and tightened her lips. She repeated her actions many times, with no fantastical precedent, no thought. This experience was free of expectation or anticipation – she just went for it. She sucked like she loved it, and she found that she did.

She loved all the trappings of it; the sound of his moans, the filthy, guttural words tumbling out of his mouth as he got closer and closer. She loved the familiar yet fantastically new feeling of his body tensing, so close to hers. She loved the taste of him, even more than when they had dinner by the lake, and she responded with pleasure. And certainly she loved the Doctor himself, the man driving her actions, now and always.

So when he filled her mouth at last with a rippling groan, unrehearsed though it was, she let it slide down her throat with no compunction. He seemed to come for a long time, and she felt every little throb between her lips, tasted every drop that he gave her, and listened intently to every whispered word that escaped from his lips.

She would not be catatonic from the anticipation and obsession. She was now _alive_ with experience, feeling and knowing and taking charge.

And she wasn't finished yet.

* * *

Very little about the ensuing few hours was consistent with the _perfection_ she'd perceived for so long in fantasy. But it was perfect all the same.

While he was still speechless from the initial shock, she'd helped him out of his trainers and trousers, then stood over him, looking down with a kind of hunger. That look inflamed him from his head to his toes, and everywhere in-between. For a few moments, given the mastery Martha had showed, he wondered if he was about to be handcuffed to something.

But alas, he was not. Right where he was, she climbed on top of him, and looked dead into his eyes while she moved on him, up and down, twisting, bending back as several orgasms rippled through her. She wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, until he was satisfied and had filled her up once again. He was impressed at how long she could sustain herself. He wasn't surprised – he knew she was athletic and passionate – just impressed.

They were drained, realised they hadn't eaten in quite a while. They took a break in the kitchen and had some cheese and fruit, but before they knew it, they were back in the bedroom peeling their bathrobes off. She'd joked about how she was the boss, challenged him to keep up with her, and he'd responded by pinning her, laughing, to the mattress and having his way with her. Pleasure washed over her again and again, and he grew voracious and mad. Something went _pop_, and suddenly they were both spent.

For hours they tumbled, the weight of severa l years of desire lifted from their lives.

* * *

And they got perhaps three hours' sleep. At eleven p.m. an alarm sounded, waking them from a deep, exhausted sleep. They were lying face-to-face, and their eyes opened to the sound at the same time. Their gazes rested upon each other, and as the alarm died down, they both smiled.

"Feeling rested?" he asked.

"Not really. You?"

" No. You…" he began before losing his nerve. He smiled and blushed a bit.

"What?" she asked, propping her head on her hand.

"You wore me out," he breathed. He cocked one eyebrow naughtily and made her laugh. "You're quite the vixen, Martha Jones!"

"Well…" she said. "I'd waited so long, I didn't want to waste it."

"Waste it?"

"Yeah, I didn't want to, you know… focus on the romantic details, compare each moment to my fantasies and obsess, and let it pass me by. I realised when we got to the bed that I didn't remember getting there. I remembered the door and some of the thoughts I was having, but… suddenly my top was off and I never felt you do it."

He smiled. "I see."

"I wanted to feel. So I did what I felt."

"Well, it was bloody amazing. You're amazing."

"Thank you. The feeling is mutual, Doctor."

"Like, adrenaline-pumping amazing," he confessed. "I'm pretty destroyed."

"Good!" she exclaimed.

"Not good," he said back. "I have to go into Thames House and face down the SharKann all dehydrated and shaking."

"You know there's a cure for dehydration," she sighed. "A fairly simple one. I know these things – I'm a doctor, you know."

"But I'm afraid there is no cure for picturing you on top of me, throwing your head back and squeezing me from the inside out," he growled, kissing her upper arm, lingering. "That is something that only comes with convalescence and I'm afraid we just don't have the time."

"You'll just have to keep hold of your baser instincts, Doctor," she declared, like a schoolteacher.

"Says the woman who awakened them," he scolded, moving up toward her shoulder, letting one hand slide round her bum.

At that moment, they both would have liked nothing more than to get lost again, to do what came naturally as they talked about awakening and urges and touched their flesh to one another. But the TARDIS gave a little cough, reminding them that the Earth was waiting. Midnight would be here soon, and there would be a small cell of troops gathering at Torchwood. He had doctors to train, not to mention a coconut egg sac thing to see to, instruments to gather, arrangements to be made in the far corners of the Earth, and, of course, there was the actual mediation with the SharKann.

So reluctantly, the Doctor and Martha Jones rolled out of bed, dressed, and embarked on Wednesday.


	18. DAY THREE:  Part I

**Thank you for the outpouring of reviews from the last chapter! That made my week, truly.**

**Okay, a whole bunch of this is fluff, but I hope you find it to be fun fluff. I HAD to touch on Tom's confusion, addressing the question of helping the Doctor, and show the business of convening, waking up, bonding with strangers. And as is always the case after a good sweat-soaked Doctor/Martha scene, there has to be a post-mortem with Jack. I've always felt that he'd jump on it, if ever the two of them decided to get squelchy, so you'll find that he's a bit keen in all of my stories...**

**Anyway, enjoy and review.**

* * *

DAY THREE: Part I

At 11:12, Tom Milligan wandered into the loo, to find Rupesh Patanjali already standing at the mirror shaving. Three sinks were lined up in the gents', and one of them had a whole cache of disposable toiletries. Tom wondered hopefully whether they had a stash of clean clothes somewhere as well. He had a _thing_; he couldn't wake in the morning or from a nap without changing clothes. Whatever he'd slept in got discarded in favour of something pressed and free of sleep sweat. Not that he thought he'd be asking for favours from this lot, but if it was offered, he'd definitely take it.

The two medical men smiled at each other uneasily, and Tom ran the water and doused his face with a cold splash. As he did that, he let out an unexpected "bleah," which caused him to have to shake off the shock.

Rupesh, face still half-covered with foam, chuckled at him. "Bracing, is it?"

"Yeah," Tom breathed. "Didn't sleep. I need _something_."

"Well, they'll have coffee in a little bit. Probably as soon as Ianto gets up," Rupesh assured him, going back to shaving.

Tom leaned against one of the sinks and crossed his arms. "So, what's going to happen today?" he asked Rupesh.

Rupesh looked at him briefly, then said, "No idea. I was hoping you'd know."

"Nope. Totally in the dark," Tom said.

"What does that Doctor have planned for us? I'm not really in the loop. Who is that guy, anyway?"

"The Doctor? Oh, that's another thing I'm sort of in the dark about," Tom sighed. "And sometimes I wish I didn't know as much about him as I do."

"I mean, from everything I'd known about Torchwood, Captain Jack Harkness was the brains of the outfit, and the boss. And then this bloke just sort of comes in with that _weird_ machine of his and takes over. I mean, he seems all right – he extracted my family so the government goons couldn't get to them, but then he took them to another planet and left them there. Is he… mad?"

Tom smiled slightly. "Maybe. Probably."

"It's just such an odd thing. I didn't think there was a higher authority than Torchwood when it came to stuff like this, but…"

"Well, I can't tell you much, but I know for sure that he's not human," Tom said. "He's like… I don't know, a guardian angel for our planet and the universe. Or some such rubbish."

A bitterness came through in his voice, and Rupesh looked at him squarely. "So you're not a fan."

Tom sighed again. "It's complicated. I know enough about him to know that we should probably do what he says. But we're not exactly chums, no."

Rupesh's eyes narrowed for a few seconds and he studied Tom. "Hm. I thought you were a friend of theirs."

"Er, not so much. They don't like me, let's just put it that way."

"Yeah, I guess you looked sort of bewildered yesterday."

"Bewildered is a good word for it. What about you?"

Rupesh answered with a surprising whimsy. "I'm their hostage."

"Their hostage?"

"I was recruited to infiltrate Torchwood, then told to kill off Captain Jack," Rupesh explained.

"Er, doesn't he… like, not die?"

"Yeah. He's a hard one to take out, that's for sure. But I never had the chance. He and the Doctor and Martha caught me and dragged me into the fray. I reckon I couldn't leave now even if I wanted to."

"You don't want to?"

Rupesh smiled, finishing his shaving. "Well, I thought it might be cool to stay on. They were saying earlier that they needed a medic – just lost their other guy, Owen."

"Hm," Tom shrugged. "Good luck, mate. As for me, I'm getting out of here just as soon as damn possible."

"If you don't want to be here, how'd you get involved?"

Tom took a while to respond. When he did, he moved only his eyes to look at Rupesh. "Martha and I…" then he trailed off.

Rupesh furrowed. "Really? I thought…" he thought about what he was about to say, then decided against it.

"You thought she was with the Doctor."

"Well, yeah," Rupesh admitted, towelling his face dry. "They've been pretty, you know… _tight_ the whole time."

"Yep. There's no getting between those two. Not now. I guess that's always been the case, if I'm honest."

"She knew him before she knew you?"

"Yeah. Not fun."

"Whoa. Sorry. I guess he's a pretty tough act to follow," Rupesh guessed.

The understatement amused Tom, and he chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, you could definitely say that safely."

"So, you're ex now?"

"Yes. As of three weeks ago. Three and a half now."

"Is that why?" Rupesh asked. "I mean, because they were… you know."

Tom took another long pause. He thought about his situation. He was here more or less against his will with a cell of people who didn't much care for him. Or at the very least, they didn't think much of him. He was being forced to help out the Doctor, do his bidding, no less, and _there _was a guy he'd rather just avoid for all eternity. He supposed he didn't mind taking orders from Martha because he knew she was a lot cleverer than he was, but in a totally normal, terrestrial way. Plus, he'd spent a year and a half doing as she asked. But Martha wasn't the one issuing orders, and if she did, they wouldn't be coming directly from her, and they would not be delivered with love. Not anymore. Jack thought he was a moron, Gwen would likely have heard by now what he'd done to break himself off from Martha, her husband would do whatever she did, and Ianto was probably fairly indifferent to him…

No-one was on his side.

And so he said, "Yeah," to Rupesh. One syllable that wasn't _entirely_ a lie in Tom Milligan's mind. He knew it was misleading, but who was it going to hurt? What did this guy care, anyway? Tom just couldn't stand one more person in this hub thinking he was a complete arse.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Tom had showered and climbed, distastefully, back into the same clothes. He was sitting in the conference room with Gwen, Ianto, Rupesh and Jack. A giant pot of coffee sat in the middle of of the table, and everyone sipped quietly. Tom was more grateful than anyone for the jolt.

Rhys came in then, carrying a box and a small bag. "Hi. Sorry about this, you lot, but I'm afraid these bagels aren't very fresh." He set them on the table, and Gwen was the first to dig into the bag, which held cream cheese, and the box of assorted stale bagels.

"It's okay," Jack assured him. "It's almost midnight and there's a global crisis. What more can we expect from our purveyors of carbohydrates?"

Everyone took a little mound of cream cheese on a napkin, wrestled with pulling apart their bagels, and ate while chatting a bit. Rhys was good for keeping a conversation going, mostly because he was genuinely fascinated by the whole thing, and always had questions to ask.

About five minutes after midnight, they all heard the tell-tale grinding, whooshing in the morgue. They listened, all looking at each other knowingly. That sound, they all knew, meant that it was showtime. Jack and Tom knew that better than anyone in that room, but for very different reasons.

They heard the door of the TARDIS click open and shut, and Jack yelled out, "Hey, we're in here! Conference room!"

A moment later, the Doctor and Martha appeared in the doorway. They were holding hands, and standing arm-against-arm, no light in-between. Everyone exchanged "good mornings," followed by lame jokes about how it wasn't really the morning… then the two of them sat down to have a bagel, and one last moment of decompression before the running began.

* * *

Once the coffee was drained, the Doctor called for everyone to convene in the med bay.

Ianto stayed behind to gather up the napkins and cups and the box left behind, and Martha began to help. Jack tapped Ianto on the shoulder and gestured for him to go.

Jack and Martha were alone now. She looked up at him with suspicion, and he looked back with a smirk.

"What?" she asked flatly.

"You know _what_, you little minx, walkin' in here all hand-holding and glowy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, averting her eyes, and turning toward the bin. She couldn't suppress a smile, though.

"I see that smile, Martha Jones," Jack said, coming around the table, tossing some things into the same bin. "You can't fool me."

"You're right, Jack," she confessed. "It's no use trying to put one over on you. I'm really _really _happy about my new mobile phone service."

"Are you, now? Everything you ever dreamed of in the way of... _service_?"

"And more."

"Extended warranty?"

"Of course."

"How extended?"

"Very, very extended."

"Really? And ringtones?"

"Very alarming," she quipped.

"Did you get multiple ringtones?"

"They insisted upon it. Never the same one twice."

"Really?"

"Are you kidding me? A service like this? How could I have gone wrong?"

"I suppose, they are a trusted source," Jack smiled. "Nine centuries of experience, providing… _ringtones_."

Martha hid her face in her hands. "Ugh, Jack, this is actually more disgusting than properly _talking about it._"

"You're the one who started us down this little path of insanity," he pointed out. There was a pause while Martha blushed and he watched. Then he said, "So, seriously. Did the angels weep? Stars burn themselves out because they couldn't keep up?"

"Yes, yes. All of the above."

He whispered. "What's he like?"

"He's tall and handsome and clever, and just a little bit barmy."

"Shut up, you. You know I mean when the lights go out. What is he _like_?"

"Jack!"

"Hey, you asked Ianto what I was like," he said, pointing a finger at her. "Only fair. Although, if you wanted to know, I don't know why you didn't just…"

"Jack, what is the matter with you?"

He laughed. "Sorry, I guess it's not sporting to hit on you now that you're…"

"In a relationship?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"I was going to say shagging someone who could exile me to a suspended pocket of the time vortex for all eternity if I stepped out of line… but yours sounds nicer."

She laughed now too. "That's right, so you'd better put it in check, mister."

"Okay, okay. But seriously, Martha… come on, now. I'm most likely never going to get my chance to find out for myself, and I've always wondered about the Doctor and his bedside manner."

"Oh my God."

"Well, it's not like I know anyone else who can tell me, so… spill it." He leaned coolly against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation," she said, her hand on her forehead, taking a few steps away from him. "I don't know what to say, Jack."

"Jut give me an adjective to work with.

"Fine. Intense."

"Yeah?" he said. "Intense how?"

"What do you mean _intense how_? How many different kinds of _intense_ are there?"

"Thirty-eight."

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Like, if he were an animal… intense like a wolf with the snarling and biting, or more like a rabbit, quick and dirty? Or maybe like a cobra, you know how they rear their head and mesmerise you, and they've got their venom in before you even know what's hit you?"

"You are disgusting."

"I'm being metaphorical. I could get clinical if you'd like, Dr. Jones."

"Nope, nope, this conversation is over!" she insisted, leaving the room and heading for the hallway.

"Is he built like a human?"

She rounded on him and whispered, so the others, including the Doctor, wouldn't hear. "This is too much to ask, Jack. It was something I've waited too long for, to be able to sum up with innuendo. It was beautiful and worthy of so much more than that, and most importantly, it was _private_. I wish I'd never engaged. I now retreat."

"All right, if you're going to be all sensible about it, then I can't talk to you," he said, nudging her. "Just tell me one more thing. Boxers or briefs?"

She stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "Boxers."

"I knew it! Are they pin-striped? I'll bet they are."

"Bye, Jack."

* * *

"Each of you needs to listen very carefully, because you'll need to pass some information along to others," the Doctor said to Martha, Rupesh and Tom. The three of them were standing on one side of the med bay, and the Time Lord was on the other. The rest of the crew were monitoring the auxiliary readings coming from the 456 frequency, speaking with Dekker on the secure phone line from time to time.

The Doctor handed each one of them a gas mask, he said, just in case there was an attack, and a fresh set of scrubs. "Sorry, Martha," he shrugged. "You may have to roll up the cuffs. They're meant for someone my size."

She chuckled and held up the trousers. "Well, the good news is, if the top gets ruined I can wear these as a jumpsuit."

"Right then. Rupesh. How old are you?" the Doctor asked brusquely.

"Thirty-three. Why?"

"What's your specialisation?"

"Erm," he stuttered. "I've been working ED for about five years. Urgent care. Both here and in London."

"Good, so you can think on your feet. Are you good?"

"I'd like to say I've never killed anyone, but…" he trailed off, realising the Doctor wasn't amused. "I hold my own."

"How are you at treating kids?"

"Fine, I guess," Rupesh answered. "There's no choice in the ED. Kids have accidents, so whoever's there… we treat them."

"Ever taught a class, led a seminar, anything like that?"

"I was put in charge of the new med students on this rotation," he said. "I do rounds with them, evaluate them. Is that what you mean?"

"Sure, good enough. What about _your _education?"

"I went to med school in America," he answered. "Dartmouth. It's in New Hampshire."

"Thanks. Tom, age?"

"Thirty-four."

"Paediatrics, yes?"

"Yes."

"Surgeon?"

Tom nodded.

"For how long?" the Doctor wondered.

"Two years. Since coming back from Africa. Started out in general paediatrics."

"Tell me about Africa. What sorts of things did you do there?"

"Mostly treating malaria," he said. "Vaccinations _and_ treatment, actually. It's really nasty in kids."

"Lots of transfusions?"

"Yes."

"Ever have a haemophiliac child on your table?"

"Yes."

"One with sickle cell or an undiscovered cancer?"

"Yes, both of those are common in the Congo with the mosquitos everywhere and carcinogens in the air from constant gunfire."

"Did any of them die?"

Tom's jaw dropped, and he hesitated. He didn't fancy discussing with the Doctor how many children he'd been unlucky enough to lose.

"It's okay Tom," Martha said. "He just wants to know if you can think on your feet."

The Doctor nodded.

"Yes, some of them die. It's part of the game," Tom said.

"I know," said the Doctor, sympathetically. "Trust me, I know. But most of them live, yeah?"

"Yeah," Tom said. "Most of them. You just have to keep sutures and ties handy at all times. And someone reliable backing you up, constantly re-sterilising the instruments. If you've got those two things, even in the jungle, your patients have a fighting chance."

"Good man."

A chill went up Tom's spine. He wasn't sure why, but it actually made him feel good to hear the Doctor say that.

"Seminars? Courses? Ever led a group like that?"

"I've done school visits every few weeks since I started, talking to kids about health issues."

"Nice. Education?"

"Cambridge."

"Okay. Martha?"

"Yes?" she asked, surprised that he had anything to ask her.

"Stop me when I get it wrong," he said, beginning to pace. As he spoke, she could see wheels turning, that he was making a mental list of his resources. "Twenty-five years old, specialising in military field medicines for the past two years – broken bones, gunshot wounds, and the like. Educated at St. Andrew's, extensive experience in extra-terrestrial relations and highly intense scenarios, was once the leader of a… movement of people, of sorts."

Martha was silent.

"Well? How am I doing?" he asked, stopping his pacing.

"Fine," she answered. "You said to stop you if you got it wrong."

"Ever treated a cerebral hemmorhage?"

"I assisted once."

"And?"

"We put the patient under, and cut into the skull to release the pressure."

"Did you do the cutting?"

"Yeah."

"Not really your area, is it?"

"No, but the other doctor was an anesthaesiologist," she said. "I figured if someone's going to take a bone saw to some bloke's head while he's still alive, we might as well have a trained professional dealing with the knock-em-out drugs."

"How did you find the experience?"

"Didn't fancy it much," she said. "But I'd seen worse things."

Rupesh, speak any languages other than English?" the Doctor asked.

"Yeah, Hindi."

"Brilliant. Tom?"

"Just French and Portuguese. Oh, and I can get by in Arabic in a pinch. And Swahili and Lingala. A touch of Wolof, but don't ask me to do it in mixed company."

The Doctor furrowed in surprise. "Really? You speak seven languages?"

"Well, six and a half. If that. What of it?"

"Nothing, just… good for you, is all. Martha?"

"You know me," she shrugged. "German and Japanese."

"Okay, team," the Doctor said clapping his hands once, loudly. "This is a great start! Here we go!"


	19. DAY THREE:  Part II

**Phew. Sorry this took so long. The conversation between Dekker and the Doctor went through like eighty revisions. Either now it's right, or I finally decided to let go.**

**I'll let you all stew over the implications of that conversation...**

**

* * *

**DAY THREE: Part II

The Doctor explained the procedure to the three alert physicians. It took him an hour to go through the technological, medical and logistical aspects. He quizzed them. Tom and Rupesh were mightily confused, but it all made perfect sense to Martha.

"Sort of like when we all got together and made that phone call from the rift, yeah?" she said.

"Sort of," the Doctor said. "But darker. Nastier."

"Desperate times," she said. "You do what you have to."

"Let's hope I don't have to," the Doctor mused, knowing he probably _would_ have to.

"This is still totally weird," Tom said. "I just don't get it."

"Is there a problem, Dr. Milligan?" Martha asked, hearing the militaristic tone of UNIT emerging, even in herself. She didn't like it.

"No, not a problem. I'm on-board with it, but I don't get it. Is this the kind of stuff you lot do all the time?"

"Well, welcome to my world," Martha said, spreading her arms lazily. "Do you believe me now?"

"I didn't _disbelieve_ you before, it's just…" he exhaled loudly.

"I know," she said rather sympathetically, patting him on the back. "Trying going through this for the first time on the moon. That'll mess with your head."

The Doctor listened to their conversation as he busied himself with the computers. He smiled to himself. The two guys, well, they weren't morons, but they didn't have anything approaching Martha's capacity.

But the men didn't need to see the big picture as the Doctor and Martha and the Torchwood team did; all they needed to know was their job. There would be time for debriefing later. Tom and Rupesh knew their duties, the Doctor was satisifed, so they began gathering supplies.

"Doctor," Gwen said, looking over the railing, down into the medical bay. "Dekker's having problems."

"What sort of problems?"

"He can't get the teleportation software to go down, and all the detectors have backup systems that trigger other backup systems. He says it's like playing Whack-A-Mole."

"All right then. Tell him to meet me in the street where I dropped him off… in, say, an hour. I have a solution. Dr. Milligan, Dr. Patanjali, it looks like we're on a bit of a delay. Dr. Jones, with me."

"Do we have time for a delay?" asked Rupesh.

"We don't have a choice. The delay has come to us," The Doctor said. "Besides, it's 1:15. The SharKann are arriving in eleven hours and fifteen minutes. So, yeah, basically we have time. Can't dawdle, though. But the point is, if we don't get _this_ taken care of, then we can't execute the plan we've been talking about for the last hour."

Once again, the Doctor and Martha disappeared into the TARDIS, after having been outside of it for a whole hour. Tom sighed watching them go. "What the hell are they constantly doing in there?" Tom couldn't help but ask, pleadingly.

"Do you really care anymore?" Rupesh asked him.

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Okay then. Do you really want to know?"

"No, probably not."

"That's right. Let them have their fun."

* * *

"What are we doing?" Martha asked, entering the TARDIS with the Doctor.

"We are literally looking for loose ends," he said, bustling toward the console. Then he muttered, "As if this old ship didn't have enough parts flopping about in here like a big maraca."

"Loose ends."

"Yeah. The console has a bunch of these little yellow switches, they're speckled all over the place. The plastic tops unscrew and come off. Look for them, and unscrew as many as you can."

She furrowed. "Er, okay. Why?"

"I need to give Dekker a tool," he told her. "I'm not giving him the sonic, and I'm sure as hell not giving him a key to the TARDIS, so pieces of the console will have to do."

* * *

At a quarter past two, Edwin Dekker stood on a street corner outside Thames House, smoking a cigarette and waiting to hear the TARDIS gears. He supposed he should have been more paranoid about being seen, but he simply wasn't.

It was true, he was just as afraid as anyone else that the Earth would be nuked in response to resistance to the 456, or that life as he knew it, in any sense, would finish. But he'd long since acknowledged within himself that he was a cold-hearted bastard, and really, he only marginally cared about the thing with the kids. It was more of an intellectual curiosity to him than anything else; he certainly had no particularly _visceral_ feeling about the youngsters themselves. He had no children nor grandchildren of his own because he'd never had the time nor the inclination to have a wife or a partner of any sort. His whole life, he'd had naught but the slightest occasional interest in sex. Just enough to survive, he reckoned. At those times, he'd taken the path of least resistance and paid for it, so that he could get on with his life as soon as possible.

All the children of Earth were strangers to him, and he was a self-centred man. He was only doing this because he reckoned he owed the Doctor a few favours. He reckoned most of the world probably did.

But something about the Doctor was bothering him now. Something had bothered Dekker from the moment he'd set eyes on the man in pin-stripes, and even more so after he met Martha and Jack.

This was worrying, even though Dekker was, admittedly, bothered by _most _people. Because in spite of himself, he had always more or less had faith in the Doctor. He'd seen back in his days as an underground UNIT techie what the Doctor, with a little help from some extremely well-chosen friends, could do. Sure, he'd had faith in the earnest, albeit flamboyantly-dressed, distinguished, older-looking man with white hair and an almost total intolerance for nonsense.

He heard the sound of the Time Lord's vessel coming to a halt across the street. But the man who emerged was not particularly earnest nor distiguised, and he certainly didn't look old or have white hair. And after spending a few hours in _this _Doctor's world, Dekker had an idea that _this _Doctor didn't have that same intolerance for nonsense. He reckoned there was quite a lot of nonsense surrounding him these days, and that the handsome Time Lord rather liked it. Therefore, Dekker was not sure how well-chosen the Doctor's friends now were.

"Don't you think you should be better-concealed?" the Doctor asked, stepping up on the curb.

"You do your thing, I'll do mine. Right then, what have you got for me?" asked Dekker, rubbing his hands together as the Doctor stepped up on the curb.

The Doctor handed him a small plastic sandwich bag. It contained eight small pieces of yellow plastic. They looked to Dekker like screw-on toggle tops from some off-worlder's electronic equipment. "Guard these with your life."

"What the bloody hell is this?" asked Dekker. "You said you had a solution to my software problem."

"I do."

"So give me a mini-disc or a flash drive with a virus that will crash the whole system, or something I can _work with_," Dekker complained. "Don't give me a baggie full of… what the hell are these things?"

"A virus that will crash the whole system? Yeah, because nothing says _stealthy _like a full frontal attack with a battering ram. You know that, you're just being difficult."

"I am not."

"And you're all bitter because you can't use your great big bizarro obsession with retro technology and buried signals and all that rubbish."

"Bollocks," the old man spat, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out.

"As you like," the Doctor conceded, to save time. "Just listen. There are eight of those yellow pieces. Place one in each corner of the room, and one along each wall. Stand them up so they don't roll away."

"And then what? Get out the Ouija board and say a Druid chant?"

"And then nothing. Let me do the rest. Stand by in case I need you."

Dekker peered over his glasses at the Doctor, siezing upon an opportunity to speak his mind. "You? Not just you. Never just you," he pointed out.

"Well, me and… the team. Jack and Martha and the others. You know, you met them."

"Mm. Jack? He's even prettier than you are."

"Yeah. And he knows it."

"It's just... well, he doesn't inspire confidence is all."

"Jack is more than capable," the Doctor calmly assured the tedious man. "Good looks are not inversely proportional to intellectual prowess, my grizzled friend."

"Lucky for you, eh? And your friend Martha."

"Just leave her out of it. I don't want to have to kill you on the same day when you helped saved the world, all right?" the Doctor warned, arms crossed, eyes straight.

"Oh, wind him up over the girl, and suddenly he rolls out the threats," Dekker said, mockingly waving his hands about.

"You've been winding me up since I first saw you yesterday!" the Doctor protested. "You never used to be like that. You never used to care! My suit, my hair, my face, and now my friends! What do you want from me, Dekker?"

"I'm worried about you."

The Doctor looked at him sceptically. "What have you possibly got to be worried about?"

Dekker chuckled mirthlessly. "You've got younger somehow, and I'm not sure I like it. It's _my_ planet in peril, you know."

"You're pouting over not being James Bond, and you're worried about _my_ adolescent angst?"

Dekker shrugged smugly.

The Doctor continued, "Anyway, I haven't got any younger. And if I have, it's only on the outside, believe me. I understand that you're having trouble coping with the new face, but you're really being a prat."

Dekker stared down the street, not looking now at the Doctor. "It's not just a new face, it's a new attitude. It's scary. There are different priorities, different proclivities."

"Yes. And there have been seven new faces and seven new attitudes since you last saw me, and the universe somehow survives. I always manage to adjust, even if there are small-minded, bitter old government employees who cannot." He hadn't meant to raise his voice, but he had a bit, and he wasn't sorry. "And you know, while we're on the subject, I'm comfy with this face and this attitude, I rather like them."

"Oh, I can see that just fine, thanks. And it would seem that everyone else likes them too."

The Doctor's voice had calmed somewhat. "So?"

"You just make sure you're using your head, Doctor," Dekker said, patting the Time Lord on the arm. "And I mean the one on your shoulders. And that goes double for everyone around you. You get me?"

The Doctor did. But he lied. "I don't think I do."

"You've always led people into battle, and this lot, Jack and Martha and their wacky pals, they're no different. But if you're going to lead these people, lead them like a general, not like a pop star."

"You're being ridiculous, Dekker."

"Come on, look around! You're a distraction, and you know it. Not to me, but to the people whom you seem to hold dear. I have no idea what your real relationships are with Martha and Jack, but I can see what they want from you, and it's not just what's inside your head."

The Doctor swallowed hard. He had only recently come to terms with this knowledge. "I know."

"You want them to perform great feats of strength, but you need to ask yourself where their priorities lie; with you, or with the conflict. They'll die for you, sure, that's brilliant, but will they sacrifice planets for you? Their own planet, even? Will they abandon the mission for the possibility of being with you?"

This was hardly a revelation to the Doctor. "I ask myself that every day, Dekker. Every move I make, they make, every time I take someone new into my life."

"I know, just being _you_ has always been a liability, has always come with a responsibility to protect your human flock from their own deadly devotion to you. But being a version of you whom the people on the front lines want to shag? Totally different kind of responsibility."

"Okay," the Doctor said, nodding. "I get it."

"I don't want to know that the fate of my planet lies in your groin, or anyone else's."

"Lovely, Dekker."

"Well, I don't like to mince words."

Just then, the TARDIS door opened and both men turned their heads at the sound. Martha's silhouette emerged, and the Doctor couldn't see her face, but he could tell by the way she crossed her arms and stuck out her hip that she was wondering what the hell was taking so long. She was a little annoyed. He _had_ promised to be back in less than thirty seconds. He hadn't counted on having to philosophise with Dekker about the serious implications of an interplanetary trouble-shooter with sex appeal.

For an instant, the Doctor forgot himself and stared at her, allowing a tiny smile to come across his face as he admired what he saw.

The tiny smile did not go unnoticed. At that moment, Dekker knew, unequivocally, what the real relationship was between the Doctor and Martha. Dekker, for his part, recognised that the shadowy figure did cut a lovely silhouette indeed, against the illuminated blue box. He could see the curves, the sexily determined stance, the high-heeled boots that elongated the legs on a five-foot-two frame. He could see what the Doctor saw, but he himself was not someone who tended to be moved by such things.

But in the forty years since he'd seen the Doctor, apparently, the Doctor had become someone who _was_ moved by such things. And who tended to be quite _moving_ himself.

In addition to which, Dekker didn't know Martha at all. He'd been in no position to judge her in any way. True, the Doctor had, in the past, rarely chosen to surround himself with imbeciles, but as Dekker was finding out, looking suspiciously at the incongruously handsome, young-looking man in well-fitting pin-stripes, clearly smitten with the womanly shadow across the street, things had changed. He hoped the Time Lord soul inside the pretty paper still knew what it was doing.

"Think with the one on your shoulders, Doctor."

"Trust me, I am."

Dekker looked pointedly at Martha. "Doesn't seem like it to me."

The Doctor was silent for a few moments, then sighed. "You know, I'd really like to respond by saying, 'someday, Mr. Dekker, I will tell you the entire story, the saga of me and Martha Jones, and you will see that I'm not making any rash decisions.' I would like to tell you how many time she's saved my life and my soul, and on one occasion, saved the Earth. I really would like to. But frankly, I don't think it would do any damn good." The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "In fact, I don't even know why we're still talking about this. I just want you to do your thing, and I'll do mine, like you said."

"You're being far too defensive, Doctor. "You sound like a man in love."

"Because that's what I am, Dekker. And I say it makes me a better fighter, not a hampered one. It gives me fire, and something to lose!"

"Fine. Just remember that you, Doctor, are often the last hope for the human race. You and I both know you can't do it alone, and I just want to make sure you're choosing your friends wisely."

"I always have. I'm still the same man."

"So you say, but there's something different in you," Dekker said.

"So what else is new, eh?" the Time Lord asked, annoyed.

Dekker was serious now. "Your brain, Doctor. Not your heart, not your eyes, and certainly not your…"

"Just stick to your little yellow plastic thingies, and I'm going back to Cardiff with Martha, before this turns into a schoolyard shouting match."

Dekker shrugged. "Well, I guess I've said my bit."

"Are you going to do what I said?"

"You know I will, you daft sod. What do I do about the suits?" asked Dekker. Then he looked the Doctor up and down and added, "Sorry. The _other_ suits."

"They won't be an issue."

"Seriously, Doctor, this is your mighty plan?"

"Yes."

"It seems barmy."

"Yep. And that's why I'm going to win. Scary, eh?"

Dekker sighed heavily. "Terrifying."


	20. DAY THREE:  Part III

DAY THREE: Part III

Jack exited his office and found Gwen, Rhys and Ianto listening to instructions from the Doctor.

"Hey guys, what's the good word? Are we almost all set?" he asked, coming up on the Doctor's right, and resting his left hand on the Time Lord's shoulder.

The Doctor's gaze shifted, almost in slow-motion, to Jack's eyes. "Could you not do that, please?"

"Do what?" Jack asked. "Ask about the mission?"

"Touch me. It's nothing personal, but could you just, you know… keep your hands to yourself?"

Jack furrowed, but did not move. "What are you talking about?"

The Doctor didn't answer, just continued to burn holes into Jack with his eyes.

Jack held up his hands in a disarmed manner, and said, "Fine, fine, whatever you say, you big weirdo."

Both Jack and the Doctor noticed the other three stealing covert glances at each other.

"Okay, so, check your frequencies now," the Doctor told the three. "Make sure we're all on the same page, as it were. I don't want anything to go wrong – can't afford it." He pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket.

Gwen, Rhys and Ianto each went to a computer screen and pulled up a communications software system that Tosh had designed. It reversed the feed of wireless internet and used it like radio waves, and she was able to use the computers to link up with the Torchwood walkies, if and when necessary. The Doctor had hacked into it and adjusted the receiver functions using the sonic screwdriver. Gwen tapped out an SOS using the spacebar, and the sonic buzzed with the proper code, on a three-second delay.

"Lovely. Ianto, Rhys, you too."

Each of them did the same thing in turn.

"Good," said the Doctor. "Don't close the program for any reason, until I say so, got it?"

They all nodded in agreement.

Given the Doctor's demeanour, Jack knew the comment would be met with irritation, but he said it anyway. "Oh, do I love it when you're commanding."

The Doctor rounded on him. He didn't raise his voice, but his words came out as though clipped with razors. "Captain, I have tried many times in the past to make it clear to you that I don't find that sort of thing amusing, especially during a crisis. I need you to stop with the innuendo right now, am I making myself clear?"

"What the hell is the matter with you? Usually you just tell me _not now, _or _oh, don't start_ and I laugh and we get on with it. What gives?"

"Why are you here, anyway?" the Doctor asked, ignoring the question.

"This is Torchwood. I'm Jack Harkness. I live and work here. Any of this ringing a bell? Have you finally gone senile, in addition to being a jerk?"

"You don't need to be here to test the comm or surveillance equipment, so maybe you should just go. Help the medics."

"Okay then," Jack said. "I used to think you got like this sometimes 'cause you weren't getting laid, but…"

"Get out, Jack."

Jack chuckled and went down the stairs into the big, circular white room. "What's the matter with _him_?" he asked, skipping the last step.

Martha, Tom and Rupesh were busying themselves, preparing for the big showdown later on. Without asking, Martha knew that Jack was talking to her. The Doctor had been alternatingly taciturn and surly ever since meeting with Dekker, and he wouldn't say why.

"He's being an arse," Martha answered simply.

"Yeah, thanks, I can see that," Jack said. "Why?"

"I don't know. He's been like that since Dekker. Totally gave me the sweep. Actually, it was more like a wet mop to the face."

"Why, what did Dekker say to him?"

"Don't know, he wouldn't tell me," Martha reported curtly.

"Dekker _was_ winding him up pretty good earlier," Tom offered.

"He was? About what?" asked Rupesh.

"About being… pretty. Called him Casanova for the twenty-first century," Tom said, unable to suppress a bitter smile.

"Aw, he wouldn't be this angry over something like that," Jack said dismissively. "Dekker must have got under his skin about something else."

"Is he being like that to Gwen and the others?" Tom asked.

"No," Jack said.

"Not to me or Rupesh either. It's just you and Martha," Tom pointed out, again, unable to contain the bitter smile.

"You know, you don't have to take so much glee in this," Martha complained.

"I'm not taking glee, Martha, I'm just stating the facts," Tom retorted. He sighed. "I think you're overreacting anyway. It's not uncommon for someone to give the cold shoulder to the people they're closest to, when the chips are down. If something's bothering him and he's going to lash out at someone, it makes sense that it would be the two of you, not the rest of us – what do _we_ matter to him?"

"I've always hated it when you're right, Milligan," Martha muttered.

"Well, it's a good thing it hasn't happened that often," Tom responded, winking.

Martha broke eye contact. She didn't like the wink.

"Maybe we should double-team him," Jack suggested. "I mean later, after the crisis is over."

But she didn't hear Jack's suggestion for a solution to the disturbing behaviour, because Martha's brain had already shifted back to the disturbing behaviour itself. Plus, she didn't want to talk about it with Rupesh and Tom listening in. The last thing Tom needed to hear was the details of her oddly tumultuous new romance. She didn't want to make any sort of appearance of confiding in Tom about the Doctor's infuriating habits. No crying on the ex's shoulder over new-boyfriend angst. That's the sort of thing that leads to alcohol and indiscretion and bad breakups… she shuddered.

If she was going to talk to anyone, it would be the Doctor himself. Just not right now. She'd been hoping to save the world with all of her personal ducks in a row, but that wouldn't happen now. She'd have to be content with just her mental and professional ducks.

Because, it was highly probable that this thing wouldn't work itself out in the next few hours. When the Doctor had come across the street after watching Dekker disappear into Thames House, he was furrowed, and pointedly not looking at her. When he'd left the TARDIS, he was in reasonably good spirits; sure he had a global crisis on his hands, but he had a good plan of attack, and… well, he'd just had fantastic sex with someone he loves. At least Martha perceived that this could be what was buoying him. Though, she wondered, perhaps she was just projecting.

But what the hell had Dekker said to him? He'd just growled, "Let's go," at her and brushed past her, into the TARDIS and started up the gears without so much as a hint.

"Doctor, what's wrong?" she had asked.

"Nothing you need to worry about," he'd said.

"Erm, isn't it my job to worry about you?"

"No. Seriously, don't. I'm fine. I just need to get some distance."

"Distance? From what?"

But he hadn't answered her, and within a minute, they were back at Torchwood. She had barred his exit from the TARDIS, standing, arms crossed, against the door, imploring him to talk to her. "Doctor, we're just starting something new," she had begged. "You pointed out to me before that we shouldn't embark on this new journey, all clammed up and having secrets from one another. Or was that someone else?"

"Well, maybe I was wrong."

"No, you weren't wrong! That's why I opened up and told you the truth about what Tom did, even though it was incredibly hard," she had told him. "Is it too much to ask the same thing from you?"

"Maybe it is. Maybe it was too much of me to ask of you, too."

"No!" she spat, frustrated. "We're supposed to lean on each other and be honest. That's what people do in a relationship. And we _are_ in a relationship. Aren't we?"

His jaw tightened and he stared at her.

Her voice raised a bit, in anger. "Okay, so have I just misunderstood _everything _about the last couple of days? When you made comments about seeing me in a bikini? When you urged me to open up, and when you kissed me, and told me that I should have called you after finding out about Tom and that girl? When you said how much of an idiot you were during that year we travelled together and you didn't want me then? And, oh yeah, gee, almost forgot, when you had sex with me multiple times? Was that all just stuff I was building up in my mind?"

He still didn't answer.

"Doctor, please tell me I didn't misunderstand." She knew she hadn't, she knew it was real this time. She'd simply been hoping the genuine desperation in her eyes would coax him into talking.

But it hadn't. Instead, in a voice that was somewhere between rough and flat, he'd said, "Your trying to get into my head just wastes time, Martha. Now move away from the door."

She'd been so stunned and hurt by his tone, that she'd had no choice but to stand down. She had caught her breath inside the vessel, then stepped out when she was certain she wouldn't cry.

Now, she was just pissed off.

"What are they doing up there?" asked Martha, motioning toward where the Doctor stood with the others, round the computer terminals.

"He's debriefing the three of them on what to look for, once we're online," Jack told her, leaning against the bannister. "He wants everything monitored, just in case something goes wrong. He wants to know that you three are backed up."

"Er, all due respect, but what can Gwen and Rhys and Ianto do if something goes wrong on our end?" asked Rupesh. "We're the doctors, aren't we? Isn't that why we were chosen for the front lines?"

"What they can do is call the Doctor," Jack said. "He'll have his hands full, which is why he's not doing this part himself, the part he needs you three for. But if something happens that you can't handle, or you get knocked out, or there's a biohazard attack or something, he can respond. He can't be in two places at once, but at least we won't be risking the children."

"What about you?" Rupesh asked Jack. "What's your role?"

"Apparently, I'm going into Thames House with the Doctor," he said. "Won't that be a laugh and a half."

"Just stay in your own space," Martha shrugged. "You know how most utter geniuses have the emotional constitution of a potato crisp. Or maybe that's just how it seems."

"Yeah," Jack said, rather sarcastically. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

* * *

Miles away in London, Edwin Dekker stood in the middle of a large, cold room. Behind him was a giant tank, ready to be filled at any moment with poisoned gases to house the 456. At two separate points in front of and to the left and right of him, were surveillance cameras, which supposedly could see every move made within this room. Not to mention motion detectors, body heat sensors, pressure monitors, microphones and teleport detection devices.

He squinted and looked into the corners. He couldn't see through the shadows the tiny cyllindrical pieces of plastic he'd placed in each corner and along each wall, but he knew they were there, and knew roughly how they worked. He knew they must have come from the Doctor's TARDIS console, and he knew why they were being used. Truth be told, this plan was more brilliant than anything he could have come up with, and more insidious than any computer virus. He supposed that's why _he_, Dekker, wasn't the interplanetary ubermensch, and the Doctor was.

He sort of wished now that he hadn't voiced his opinion to the Time Lord, hadn't put it in his head that Martha and Jack might be compromised because of how they felt about him. He still wasn't keen on people _so keen_ on the Doctor being at the helm of a very dangerous operation, but he also reckoned it hadn't been a great idea to upset the man shortly before a world-saving mission. Trust had always been a major issue for Dekker, which was another reason he didn't have a woman in his life, and why he was so suspicious of people who loved and lusted and lived with their souls, trusted someone with their hearts, like Martha and Jack.

He turned and stared into one of the cameras and grinned like a snake on the prowl. Suddenly, his voice burst forth and he began jumping up and down, waving his arms wildly.

"Hey, you! You, there, watching at the monitors, you overpaid, glorified couch-potato, you! Look at me! Look at me jumping up and down! Am I mad? Am I senile? Will I compromise the operation? Ooh, better come in here and check me out! Take me away!"

The room was silent for a moment, while Dekker waited with a smile on his face. He turned to the other camera, and did the same thing.

"Oi! You at the desk! Why not put on a real badge and be a real copper, eh? Even a real security guard? Hell, why not put on a French maid's costume and be a real tart, for all the bloody good you're doing this Godforsaken country! Come on, lowlife, come in here and arrest me! Lock me up and have me analyzed! Interrogate me! Probe my arse with a stick – I know you'd like that! Come on!"

Again, he let silence reign, and he laughed to himself. He walked toward the door, leading out into the hall, then he stopped. "Oh, and by the way, I'm planning on bringing my friend the Doctor in here, in his teleporting space vessel, so that he can deal with the 456 his way, totally compromising national security and causing all protocol to break down. Is that all right? If it's not, just come on in here and beat me with a nightstick like the pussies that you are."

No response.

"Good. Glad we understand each other." He left the room.

* * *

Downstairs at the surveillance desk, a screen came alive with an old man waving his arms. The audio feed was low but audible and obscenities were coming through loud and clear.

But the man at the desk did not perceive it. Almost as if the room had some kind of filter.


	21. DAY THREE:  Part IV

DAY THREE: Part IV

"What the bloody hell is going on with that Doctor?" Gwen whispered as Jack pulled on his coat.

"Oh, dear," Jack said, checking his pockets. "I wish I knew, sweetheart."

"Are he and Martha on the skids already?"

"I doubt it."

"Maybe it's Milligan."

"Maybe," Jack said. "But as the illustrious Dr. Milligan pointed out, he's only being a jackass to me and Martha. The rest of you are getting a pass for some reason, even Milligan himself."

"Well all I know is, good God, he's acting bizarre," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "It's like his personality's changed in the last two hours."

"Yeah," Jack chuckled. "I've seen it happen to him before, but usually he has to die in order for that to happen. Hm, maybe he did."

Gwen sighed. He didn't know the Doctor well enough to speculate further. In her experience, men acted that way because they were insecure about something. Usually sex or their job. She doubted it was as simple as that with the Doctor. Men she could deal with. Time Lords were a mystery. She'd leave his care and feeding to the experts.

"So, are you ready to go into the den of the beast?" she asked, dramatically, opening her giant blue eyes as wide as saucers.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he sighed.

"You'll be fine," she told him, patting him on the shoulder. "The Doctor's with you, and Martha and Tom and Rupesh are on the second front, and we're backing them up. What could possibly go wrong?"

"With jury-rigged technology spanning across the globe, in the presence of a highly volatile alien species? Nothing that I can think of."

She smiled and they hugged. "Good luck, Jack."

He waved to Rhys, as he passed, and Ianto was waiting at the top of the stairs. A quick kiss, and Jack was off to the morgue to join the motley crew of travellers. The TARDIS console room contained Tom, Rupesh and Martha, all loaded down with backpacks, and the Doctor, arms crossed and surly, waiting at the controls.

"All is right with the world," Jack announced. "So to speak. Let's do it."

* * *

The TARDIS came to a halt a few moments later. "Where are we?" Martha asked.

"Bombay," said the Doctor. "Rupesh, you're on."

Rupesh swallowed hard. He turned to Tom. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," Tom replied, and they shook hands.

The Doctor, Rupesh and Jack exited the TARDIS, noticing a hospital looming across the street. "Well, here goes nothing," Rupesh sighed.

Upon entering the facility, Rupesh flashed his NHS ID card. "Hello, I'm Dr. Rupesh Patanjali, and these are my associates from the British government. We are working to alleviate the symptoms exhibited by the children – the speaking in unison. I am going to need some specimens and some extra personnel; is there a supervising physician I could speak to?"

"Specimens? As in…"

"Children. Yes, ma'am."

"What will you do?"

"Nothing invasive, you have my word."

The elderly woman, dressed in an old-fashioned nurse's uniform, eyed him. Then she eyed the Doctor and Jack. "May I see your identification again?"

He let her inspect his ID one more time. For good measure, the Doctor stepped forward with the psychic paper.

"All right," she said. "Wait here."

Rupesh exhaled hard and turned to the Doctor. "Erm, I have a question."

"It's the TARDIS' translation circuits," the Doctor told him, anticipating his question. "You thought Hindi was going to come out, and instead you got English."

"I swear I'm speaking in Hindi," he said. "I'm thinking in Hindi. I'm saying words in Hindi, but… that's not what I'm hearing, and it's not how people are responding."

"Yep, and it will happen to Tom in Brazil, and Martha in Japan. That's the way it is – one of the weird things about travelling in the TARDIS. Don't worry, as soon as the TARDIS leaves, it will stop. Just go with it."

A few moments later, the elderly lady returned with one man and one woman, both in suits. "Dr. Patanjali?" asked the woman. "I'm Dr. Hari, I'm the administrator of this facility. May I see your credentials?"

Rupesh showed his ID again.

"And I'm told that you're working with top officials British Ministry of Health?" she asked, eyeing the Doctor and Jack

Rupesh's eyes grew very wide for a moment. Then the Doctor stepped forward and handed her the psychic paper. "Yes, ma'am. Ministry of Health."

"Well, this appears to be in order," she sighed, handing it back to him. "And you say you have a treatment for our children?"

"Well, Dr. Hari, it's a bit unorthodox, but yes, we do," Rupesh told her.

"We'll take any help we can get," she said. "Come on through."

* * *

Tom circled round the console slowly, looking up into the Time Rotor. "This is mental," he said to no-one in particular.

"Could you sit down, please?" Martha asked, leaning against a railing, arms crossed. "I don't like you roaming around in here. It's creepy."

He smiled a little. "Why?"

"Because," Martha spat. "It just is. I feel like my worlds are colliding, and not in a good way. You don't belong here. You don't actually belong anywhere near me, and here, this room… this is like…"

He waited for her to finish. She was looking about the console room starry-eyed, and he watched with sadness, and realised that she'd always loved even this ship more than she'd loved him. He'd long ago recognised the ghost of the Doctor in her eyes, but today, there were no ghosts. The Doctor's imprint was so fully upon her soul, there was no hiding it. No reason to anymore.

"It's like what?" he asked.

"It's sacred," she said, knowing that she sounded daft. "It's a sanctuary. When I'm here, then everything is all right. Even when it's not."

"Because the Doctor will fix it?" Tom he asked, one eyebrow raised sardonically.

She returned the sardonic expression and clicked her tongue. "No matter how many hours, days, months, I spent in this old ship, feeling sorry for myself, it's safe, and it's home."

"It's where you've been at your best," he said, showing the first real glimmer of understanding she'd ever seen him demonstrate, at least where her time in the TARDIS was concerned. She'd done some mighty cool things in and around and associated with this room, and they were, indeed, some of her most shining moments. But she was, after all, a doctor, and she'd also had some really amazing moments in the field tending to patients, and in the ED.

So once again, Tom had it slightly wrong. She sighed. "It's home because it's where _he _is."

Tom swallowed hard. "Well then, I guess everything worked out for the best," he said somewhat bitterly. "With you and me, I mean. You've got what you really want, and I get…" he paused. He almost said _the shaft_, but realised it would be more accurate to say_ what I deserve_, so he said nothing more.

The look on his face then made bells go off in Martha's head. She recognised something of herself in his gaze, and she seemed to search him.

She knew that expression very well. And it was a revelation to her.

She thought back through the amazing events of the last several years. At some point about four or five years ago, a man met a girl in a basement. He was extraordinary, and she was oh-so ordinary, but pretty, and apparently resourceful and intelligent. And most importantly, she was very, very devoted. They fell in love, and somehow, in the wake of an intergalactic crisis, they got separated and dumped into two separate universes. Their hearts were broken, but they each had to live on. The girl returned to an old love, the man found someone new.

But Martha wasn't around for that bit.

She came in several months later, she was the someone new. And when she met that remarkable, brilliant, handsome man, he quite literally swept her off her feet. He took her places, showed her the universe, brought her into his life, but somehow, kept her constantly at arm's length. Over time, she fell desperately in love with him, but tragically, learned more and more about that "ordinary" girl, a mysterious figure called Rose, who seemed to lurk somewhere in the man's recent past. She could read between the lines, and see that he must have loved her fiercely and vice versa. And the guarded, troubled man was oblivious to Martha's pain, and he lived within himself, feeling he could never love anyone that way again. Many adventures, two three-month stints in close-quarters in history, an apocalypse and a one-year-reverse time lapse later, and Martha walked away from the love of her life, because she could not live in the shadow of Rose. She could not _be_ someone else, let alone someone who lived in a different reality, so it was time to say goodbye. To love so hard and not to feel it returned, it was like jumping without a chute. It was like holding up a stone wall, all alone.

Soon thereafter, Martha met a nice man named Tom. He, like Rose, was basically unremarkable, but clever enough and rather rugged, which she liked. She learned to love him, but never ached for him, never burned when he touched her, never felt she would faint dead away when he smiled. But he was smitten with her, and was eager to know everything about her. Having learned her lesson, she no longer believed in keeping secrets, so she confessed all. She'd loved and lost. She'd seen the stars and comets and the Time Vortex. She'd saved planets, even her own, and at the centre of it all was _him_. That man, the one whose name Tom grew to hate the sound of, the one whose special powers seemed impossible and whose stake in Martha's life was vexing indeed. Over time, Tom learned more and more about the mysterious "Doctor" who had stolen his beloved's heart, and, as he came to realise, probably still kept it, whether he meant to or not. And there was nothing in time or space that Tom Milligan, citizen of Earth, could do about it. Anger and jealousy oscillated frequently within his mind, and between him and Martha, and the capacity for heartache grew rich in the air, like a thick steam.

But Tom did not have Martha's mettle. He didn't have the strength to walk away from the woman he loved because he couldn't live in the shadow of a Time Lord. He did the weak thing, the easy thing.

Martha knew that it still didn't make it okay… shagging a redhead is no way to deal with the frustration of a distracted lover. But, looked at as a parallel with how she had lived for a year, she could see it now. She'd broken under Rose's weight, and Tom had broken under the Doctor's.

"I'm sorry I made you feel second-best," she said at last. "I know what that's like."

"You did, Martha," he told her.

"All those times when I complained about him and Rose, asked why he couldn't see _just me_, you must have been screaming at me on the inside."

"I was."

"I'm sorry."

Tom took a deep breath. "Well, for what it's worth, I get it now. The mystique of the Doctor, now that I've met him, I see it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, not in a _he's a handsome rebel who lives by his own rules, excuse me while I swoon_ sort of way, but…" Tom seemed to be searching for words. He let out a little grunt of consternation, as though his own feelings, brought on against his will, were making him angry. "He makes me want to be a better man. And not just 'cause he's got you, and I don't."

"That might be the nicest thing I've ever heard you say."

"Thanks. And…" he averted his eyes. "I'm sorry for what I did. I don't think I ever said."

"I know you're sorry, even though you never said."

"And I know it's a cliché, but I really _was _thinking of you the whole time."

"Just save it, all right? Please?"

"I really was."

"Tom, leave it," she sighed. "It doesn't matter now. You're ruining the moment."

"The moment?"

"Yes! I was just now starting to see what I'd put you through," she said throwing her hands in the air dramatically, like a giant shrug. "I was beginning to see the parallel between you and me and the Doctor, and me and the Doctor and Rose."

"Gee, maybe I ought to give Rose a ring, see if she's available," he muttered.

"Nice, Tom."

"Well, you're being shrill! And you're angry at me for being sorry! What is that about?"

"I'm just bloody angry at you, period!" she yelled. "And I'd _just _given myself permission to empathise, realise that it takes two to tango. It's the first step toward getting past the humiliation, forgiving you, and being able to be around you without wanting to hit you over the head with a Cricket bat."

"And now that I've apologised, you want to hit me again? You're a bit mental."

"If you force me to revisit those feelings, then it will take longer for the urge to cause bodily harm to go away. Common sense, dear."

"But I need you to forgive me. I love you." He pursed his lips immediately, as though with regret for blurting it out.

"I feel like I need to forgive you too, for my own sanity," she said, rather more emotionally than she would have liked. "But the best way for that to happen is _not_ for you to say you're sorry and make excuses and concessions too little, too late, and say you're thinking about me and you love me…"

"But I_ do_ love you."

"Do not say that to me again. It's not appropriate anymore."

"I'm an idiot. I knew it even then," he continued.

"Ugh! This is horrible. Why are you doing this?"

He virtually ignored her. "And I know that there was nothing going on between you and him," he told her. "It was just an excuse."

She plopped down on the navigator's seat and leaned forward with her head in her hands. She exhaled loudly and sat up. "Okay, are we really going to do this? Again?"

He averted his eyes again. "Sorry. It's just… the last time we talked about this, I was a total prat about it. I want a chance to seem civilised again in your eyes."

She felt trumped by that statement, and exhausted by the whole mess. But she wanted to give him that chance. He wasn't an evil human being by a long shot; perhaps, just perhaps, he deserved to have a frank discussion if that's what he wanted.

"Okay. But we have to keep it short or I really will go mental."

"Thank you. I'll keep it short. As I said, I know there was nothing going on between you and the Doctor."

"Okay, yeah. You're right," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Except,well… I never made any secret about my feelings. But you chose to go ahead with the engagement anyway. At least there was never anything… physical. Not while I was in a relationship with you." As she said this, she looked Tom up and down as though to remind him one more time of his own transgression. She knew it was a small thing to do, especially since she had just told herself to give him a chance, but she couldn't help herself.

"But now there is?"

"Yes," she told him. "Now there is."

He gulped. "Since when?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in the chair, looking at him with exasperation. He'd seen that look in her eyes before, the look that told him to shut the hell up if he knew what was good for him.

He put up his arms in a gesture of surrender, "Okay, okay. Just curious. Boy, if looks could kill, I'd be dead, Martha. I was going to follow it up by asking if he's better than me in the sack. I guess I'm lucky I didn't go there."

"Blimey, why does everyone want to hear the story of _The Doctor After Dark? _You're as bad as Jack."

"Truth be told, I don't want to know," he told her. "I can live without the details thank you very much. It's just, erm…" He looked at the floor and bit his thumbnail. He seemed to be stifling a thought.

"It's just what?"

"Nothing," he said, waving the thought away. "It's none of my business."

"You know, you were the one who insisted we have this conversation, so you don't get to do that. You don't get to plant seeds and then say nothing. Out with it."

"Well, it's just… I'm sort of surprised you still want to… you know."

"What?"

"Be with the Doctor," Tom said, almost at a whisper.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know, it just seems like you'd never have his full attention."

"He's the last survivor of a civilization that helped police the laws of time and space for the universe, Tom. This is stuff I can't even get my mind around, let alone divert his attention in any meaningful way. No-one will ever have his full attention. I've always known that, and I've always known that I'd give anything to be with him anyway."

"Yeah, you're probably right," he said, nodding vigourously. "You've known him a lot longer than I have, you've lived with him, worked with him, lived with the pain, and you've probably thought it through."

"I have," she said, narrowing her eyes, regarding him suspiciously.

"I believe you," he said, conceding. "And after what the two of you have been through, you deserve to be together. If that's what you both want."

"It is."

"I can see that. I mean, you two are trying to be discreet, I don't know if that's for my benefit or not, but… I can see the love in your eyes, and in his. I can see that the past is the past," he said. "And speaking as someone who represents your past, well, I'd say that's a pretty good inside assessment."

"It is," she repeated.

He smiled slightly. "I won't say it doesn't sting, knowing that I'm so far behind you, knowing that you're now so lost in him. And I'm sure Rose would say the same thing if she were here."

Martha frowned. "Maybe." She felt her heart skip a beat, in spite of herself. It wasn't the first time Rose's name had come up in this conversation, but there was something about the turn the discussion had taken that made this occasion jarring.

"Of course she would," he said calmly. "What feeling person wouldn't? You really think it's fun for her, living with the fact that he's done with her, and has decided to be with you instead? That he had the choice, and he chose you?"

"No, I suppose it's not."

"I mean, I remember you said that she was there with you lot, the last time you saw him, when that last big to-do happened with the… you know, those things that look like six-foot pepper shakers with plungers on their bodies…"

"Daleks."

"Yeah. And I don't know what happened between them after that to make him decide she wasn't right for him. Maybe she screwed up like I did," he speculated. Martha got the feeling he was thinking aloud now. "Or maybe she broke up with him. But whatever it was, it was enough to void all that time he spent living with you and thinking of her. He's clearly got over her now, just like you don't have any lingering feelings for me. Poor Rose, I say. Maybe I _should_ give her a ring."

Martha nodded absently.

Because she knew the truth. Nothing had happened to make the Doctor believe that Rose wasn't right for him. Rose hadn't screwed up, she hadn't broken up with him. The Doctor had given her up out of necessity, as a way of handling the unique dilemma of having a twin in this world. He knew that Rose and the twin were right for one another, and the twin was like the Doctor in every way, except for his human aspect.

So it wasn't that the Doctor had been given a choice between Rose and Martha, and he chose Martha. It was that he'd _had_ to close himself off from Rose once and for all…

…and Martha was what remained.

When she looked back at Tom, in spite of fighting them back with every desire in her body, there were tears in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, Tom," she groaned, sadly. "Things are not always as they seem."

_No, they most certainly are not, _Tom thought to himself.


	22. DAY THREE:  Part V

DAY THREE: Part V

A meeting with the front desk of a hospital in Rio de Janeiro occurred, very similar to that of the one in Bombay, only with Tom flashing credentials, talking to the locals and confused about why he thought he was speaking Portuguese, but English was coming out. For this, Martha had come along, because she didn't want to be left alone to stew in her own juices in the TARDIS console room.

Just like Rupesh had been, Tom was shown through, and the Doctor, Martha and Jack returned to the TARDIS. The Doctor strode, staring intensely at the ground, several paces ahead of them on the short walk back to the ship.

"Hey," she whispered to Jack. "When we get to Japan, would you mind staying in the TARDIS?"

He nodded knowingly and said, "Not a problem." Then he put one arm around her shoulders and pulled her warmly, momentarily, against him. She appreciated the gesture. "Just don't get your hopes up. You might have to wait until this is all over before you get any answers."

"I know, but I have to try," she told Jack. Tom's voice echoed in her head, the poisoned words he had planted, incubating, ticking like a bomb. "We're going into a mad standoff with some pissed-off aliens in a few hours, and there are just some things I _have_ to know."

* * *

The Doctor and Martha stepped out of the TARDIS in Tokyo. It was now nigh on four-thirty, and there was not yet any sun, but the air smelled of morning, and the city was moving at half speed.

Martha looked around uneasily. She had never seen Japan in its real, full glory, and the TARDIS was translating all the local signs and language for her, but the vibe was unmistakable. Japan was indelibly imprinted on her, the look of the people, and somehow, the air. She hadn't been prepared for the shock to her system, the jarring sensation of being back here. Her breath caught, and she instinctively reached out and grabbed the Doctor's wrist.

"What?" asked the Doctor, a bizarre mixture of annoyance and concern coming through in his voice.

"It's just… it's Japan," she said, letting go.

"Yes, I can see that."

She looked up at him longingly, her eyes pleading for something. He saw it, but he kept on walking.

"Doctor," she said, trying to keep up. "Doctor!"

"What?" he asked, finally stopping.

She took a deep breath and stared at the concrete beneath her feet. "I'm having some trouble being here. It's hard for me."

"Okay, what's the problem?"

His tone was blunt and hurtful. During their travelling time together, he'd been something of a battering ram emotionally, but the last few days had changed all that. It was amazing how quickly she'd grown used to him being hyper-sensitive to her feelings, wanting to reach out and hold her and reassure her whenever something was wrong. _Okay, what's the problem _were not the words of a concerned lover in response to pain expressed at a tense time.

Tears filled her eyes, and in spite of himself, when she looked up at him again, the Doctor felt a sharp stab. He wanted to reach out to her, because it caused him pain to see her cry. But he stopped himself.

"The last time I was here…" she said, trying desperately not to let the tears go, break down completely. "The last glimpse that I had of Japan was from the sea. I was escaping, but the entire island was exploding, burning, along with everyone who lived on it. An entire people, a nation wiped off the face of the Earth."

"I know," he whispered. "We were made to watch from above, your family and Jack and me. It wasn't fun for us either. Tish had the hardest time with it."

"I lived here for two months, Doctor," she protested. "In a concentration camp, like a slave."

"Excuse me?" he asked, his eyes going wide, his arms crossing with righteous indignation. He'd known she had come through here on her trek across the world, saving humanity from the Master, but she had never told him the whole story.

"Japan had been seized long before the Master, by these… beings, can't remember who they were. But they had disabled some of the technology, and put themselves under their own kind of perception filter, so the Master couldn't detect them. My own perception filter failed and I was taken in to this… factory thing. We worked or we died."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"We were starved, sleep-deprived, dirty, humiliated, and if things were really on the skids, some of us were beaten. Or shot. I watched my friends die from exhaustion or get dragged off to God Knew Where, and I lived in constant fear. Constant fear, Doctor, that I had let you down. That I'd never escape, and that the Master would win," she told him. "It was the end of the world."

She put one hand on her forehead, feeling feverish, and turned away from him. All those feelings came flooding back. That world had mostly left her, but Japan had made it come crashing down again.

"You okay?"

She sort of expected to feel his arms curl around her then – she desperately wanted that. But it didn't happen. "You'll just have to give me a minute, all right?"

"All right," he said. And he waited. He wasn't sure what to say to her. At last, he landed on, "Martha, you're going to do fine. You're a skilled doctor, the kids are in good hands."

"Yeah, under normal circumstances, I'm a skilled doctor," she told him, turning around to face him. "Today, I'm a wreck. I'm distracted and not at my best. Which is bad, because there is a possibility of cerebral hemorrhaging, and I've only done that once, with help, in a military tent. With a bone saw and some rudimentary anesthesia, not even with proper equipment."

"You'll have help here," he said. "There are Japanese doctors, you know. They have everything you need."

"But they don't know what to do with aliens," she protested. "What if… I don't know, what if one of the kids bleeds out and we can't stop it because there's some interference from the SharKann?"

"The possibility is pretty small, Martha. A kid would only bleed out if he were the only one," said the Doctor. "Which is why it's good that we've got a jump on this."

"Can you be sure of that?"

He shrugged exaggeratedly. "Can I ever be sure of anything? Every time I jump into the fray this way, there's a chance that I'm wrong. But I'm still alive, and so are you. It's part of the fun of living in my world, I thought you understood that."

"I do."

"Then what _is _this? What are you so upset about?"

She stared at him with a mixture of sadness and disbelief. He was being intentionally distant, surly and infuriating. _He_ was what she was so upset about, could he really not see that? It was an age-old conflict between men and women, and certainly he had been down this road with boyfriends before. But she thought this one would be different.

He _was _different - she knew it. What the hell was the matter?

She suspected the worst, of course.

"You know, Doctor, while you were out setting up Rupesh in Bombay, Tom said some things…" she began.

He waited for her to continue, but she didn't seem able.

"What did he say, Martha?" he asked, sounding only marginally interested.

"He wanted to make amends," she told him.

"Well, that's good, isn't it? No sense being bitter."

"That part is good," she said. "But there's bad news. He said something that really made me think, and I just have to know something. Before you leave me here and rematerialize somewhere halfway round the world, and we go into battle, I need you to tell me one thing."

"What is it?"

She thought about how to phrase the question. _If you had your way, would you still be with Rose? If it came down to a choice, me or her, who would you really choose? Are you only with me because you can't be with her?_

Every phrasing choice sounded childish inside her head, and she mentally shook them all off. Mention of Rose sounded random, when considered in this conversation, totally out of context. She might as well ask him whether he preferred the Koala or the Panda. She imagined the Doctor in his short-tempered state, admonishing her and accusing her of being petty and infantile. And she was afraid he'd be right.

"Martha, we're wasting time. What is it that you want to say to me?" the Doctor asked. His tone was pointed as nails and hard as rock.

"Nothing. It's not important anymore, I guess," she said, resigned. "I think I can work it out for myself. The more time that goes on, the clearer things become."

"Good. Because we have to go."

"Fine. Lead on."

* * *

Once Martha was safely inside the local hospital with the staff believing she worked directly under the British Minister of Health, the Doctor took a slightly longer route back to the TARDIS. They had time; Jack and the TARDIS could wait for a few minutes longer together. There were some things he had to sort out for himself.

Really, he was ripping himself to shreds on the inside – it was terrible, horrible giving Martha the cold shoulder.

Edwin Dekker was like a weed. He'd planted a seed, and it had grown into a great big ugly, clingy vine that had got its roots wrapped round the Doctor's brain. For hundreds of years, the Time Lord was good at shrugging these things off, but ever since the prospect of romance had come back into his life along with Rose, he'd been a different sort of bloke. Emotions drove his actions much more. Knowing this about himself had made him wonder if it really was safe for him to be fraternising with Martha, and allowing her to help with this mission. And it was also this quality that had made him vulnerable to Dekker screwing with his mind.

But what made Dekker _really_ insidious was that he was so clever. True, he was absolutely no expert in matters of the heart (come to think of it, the Doctor had no impirical evidence that Dekker _had _a heart), but perhaps that's what made him effective in his attempt to undermine the Doctor's confidence in his companions. He was objective, whereas practically no-one else on this planet was. And the Doctor trusted in the man's basic common sense, and his cold view of the big picture.

"Being a version of you whom the people on the front lines want to shag… that's a whole different responsibility," Dekker had said. He had wondered aloud whether Martha would sacrifice the planet to save the Doctor, be distracted by the glint in his eye, abandon the mission altogether. And what had scared the Doctor about those questions was that he genuinely wasn't sure of the answer. He hadn't been just grandstanding when he'd told Dekker that being in love made him a better fighter – he firmly believed it. But when faced with the question of whether he'd blow up the Earth to save Martha… he shivered. He could be a volatile man, and couldn't say with any real certainty that he wouldn't, in a moment of emotional surge, in a compulsion driven by fear, do just that.

Therefore, he couldn't say with any certainty that Martha wouldn't either. He had faith that she would do the right thing, but she would be the first to admit that love makes 'the right thing' blurry. It was perfectly reasonable to wonder whether, in Martha's mind, the Earth was more valuable, or the Doctor. The Earth was certainly her home, humanity was in her veins and pervaded every fibre of her being, but it was just one planet. The Doctor could live on, to save other planets, rescue species more noble than humans from the brink of destruction. Though he'd never act on it, he'd had that thought himself; why wouldn't Martha?

And Jack. He told himself that the danger was less with Jack. He was pretty sure that Jack wasn't fully in love with him, especially not with Ianto around, but he certainly harboured something strong for the Doctor. And by Dekker's logic, that made him at least a slight a risk as well.

Blimey, what a mess.

* * *

All alone in the TARDIS. He couldn't remember the last time this had happened.

Captain Jack Harkness was not a pacer. He was way cooler than that.

But the Doctor was a pacer, and with him around, Jack was hardly the coolest guy in the room, so he paced as well. And right now seemed a good time. The TARDIS' metal grate floor made a subtle ringing sound as Jack's boots fell softly upon it at rhythmic intervals.

Things were coming together and falling apart all at once. He didn't know what was going to happen now, but he, of course, trusted in the Doctor's process. He knew that his friend would always pull it together in time and come up with a way to save the day – he had faith in that. Moreover, he shuddered to think of the outcome if for some unknown, insane reason, he hadn't decided to pull the Doctor into the crisis. Listening to the Doctor brief the three MDs about what to do and why, he'd supposed that he could have figured out for himself, sooner or later, that using children as a transmitter could work to their advantage. But, he'd likely have throught about it way too late, and had to do something drastic and dangerous. When children were involved, Jack didn't like being helpless or uncertain, especially after the horrible incident in 1965, so he thanked his lucky stars (he had several of them) that the Doctor was there.

But then, there was the Doctor and Martha. Their relationship had become an entity all its own, almost a separate character in the plot of their lives. And throw Milligan into the mix, and they had a proper farce. Martha and Tom seemed to be getting on all right, if reluctantly, and Tom and the Doctor seemed to be getting on all right. But Tom and the Relationship? He wasn't so sure about that. Jack understood that Tom could relate fine to the Doctor and Martha as individuals, so long as he didn't have to think of them as a couple – it was human nature. In fact, everyone, including Gwen and Rhys and Ianto were behaving differently toward Martha and the Doctor as individuals than they were when faced with the couple. Almost as if the love they shared was irrelevant with the fate of the world on the line. He was sure that the Doctor and Martha would both disagree, however.

But he could also see that Tom and Rupesh were getting a bit chummy, and that didn't sit well at all. Not that he thought they were dangerous together, but something about his two friends trying to form a new, well-deserved, hard-earned romance together, with her ex hanging about exchanging guy talk with his new pal… not good. Jack didn't trust Tom or Rupesh, frankly, but he wasn't in charge of this particular mission. And, he agreed with the Doctor, that they were needed for what he hand in mind to defeat the SharKann.

And then, to have the Doctor so standoffish so suddenly, threatening his relationship with everyone involved… well, tensions had been dialled up to eleven within the Torchwood hub over the last twenty-four hours, and it didn't make for the best environment for world-saving.

As he passed the console's computer screen for the four-hundredth time, he happened to glance to his left. A flap that he had never noticed before was open, and a little piece of card seemed to be sticking out. Jack bent to examine it. He poked at it with a pen and opened the flap very carefully, just a little further, making certain he wasn't damaging the TARDIS or accidentally dematerialising the vessel into the Middle Ages or something. Upon inspection, he realised that it was a makeshift cup holder that the Doctor must have installed after Jack had left. Back in the old days with the rough-talking, leather-wearing Doctor, he recalled Rose saying that she wished there were some place to set her mug, where it wouldn't spill when the TARDIS jostled about. The Doctor had poo-pooed her request, but she had said, "I'm British - we have to have our tea. So sue me."

He knew that the new Doctor had had a decidedly different rapport with Rose, and that he was probably much more amenable to her frivolous requests. This was a slot with a tight lid, perfectly shaped for a standard twenty-first century travel tumbler from Starbucks, or wherever. Jack chuckled.

He opened the flap fully, and the piece of card tumbled out. It was folded loosely in half, and Jack picked it up. It was a photo of the Doctor, as he looked now, with Rose. His arm was around her shoulder and hers around his waist. They looked happy and flush, posing, smiling in front of some green, snow-capped mountains, standing beneath a sparkling silver tree.

On the back, in pink ink, in Rose's handwriting, it said, "Forever, or 'til time do us part. Love, Rose."


	23. DAY THREE:  Part VI

DAY THREE: PART VI

The TARDIS door opened and the Doctor strode in.

"Ready to do this?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jack said. "Everything go all right with Martha?"

"Well as can be expected, under the circumstances," the Doctor muttered, coming up to the console.

"Er, Doctor," Jack said. "When did you install the cup holder?"

"What?" the Doctor said, stopping fully to stare at Jack. There was real bewilderment on his face.

"The cup holder. Right here. When did you put that in?"

The Doctor leaned over and looked. "Oh," he said, raising his eyebrows. "I'd forgotten about that. I guess it was just before Canary Wharf. Rose wanted it. She never used it, though – didn't have a chance."

"Hm. It's right here, by the screen, by the navigator's seat. It's here where you spend most of your time, right within reach."

"Well, that's where it made the most sense to put it," the Doctor said, his tone, not surprisingly, annoyed.

"And to put this?" Jack asked, handing him the photo he'd found. The Doctor and Rose, happy and together, with a loving inscription on the reverse side.

The Doctor sighed heavily as he examined the picture and read the back.

"Right within reach, near where you sit and spend your time," Jack repeated. "A reminder, constantly close to you."

"This was inside the cup holder?" the Doctor asked. "Under the lid?"

Jack nodded.

"How did you find it?"

Jack answered, "It was slightly open. I didn't know what it was, so I looked."

The Doctor stared at the image. Almost without moving his lips, he said, "I didn't know it was there. I didn't even know this batch of photos had got developed. Rose must have done it, and put it in there just before…"

Jack crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at the Doctor skeptically.

"What?" asked the Doctor when he looked up.

"You didn't know?"

"No."

"All this time since Rose has been gone, and you never noticed this thing sticking out of the flap?"

"It's not been sticking out of the flap_ all this time_, or I'd have seen it, Jack. In three years, standing here for most of it, the number of times I've had to fix this thing," the Doctor insisted, patting the console with his palm. "I'd have seen it."

"So you haven't been opening it up to look at the picture and wistfully remember the great love of your recent life, and torture yourself over the tragic irony of her words, _'til time do us part._"

"Who says she's the great of my recent life? I have…"

There was a pause. Jack filled the silence hastily. "What? A girlfriend now?" He was being a bit sarcastic, and the word _girlfriend_ felt weird to both of them.

"Well, yeah." The Doctor looked at the floor, knowing what was coming next.

"You're not really acting like it, you know?"

"I don't want to get into this with you, Jack. I have my reasons for the way I'm acting, all right?"

"Undoubtedly. But Martha would then _have her reasons_ for kicking your skinny ass and heading home to a normal life. No-one would blame her. Especially if you're still keeping this picture here."

The Doctor scowled.

"I'm just saying," Jack told him.

"Jack, with Martha here, with what's been going on… do you really think I'd keep that thing around? In a place where it's so easy to find? What do you take me for, some kind of insensitive wrecking ball?"

Jack tipped an eyebrow.

"Oh, just kill me now," the Doctor whined. "Give me a little credit, will you?"

"I'm trying, I really am."

"Besides," the Doctor continued. "If I had been pulling it out all the time to look at it wistfully and remember, don't you think the picture would be more beat up than this?"

"Perhaps."

"And wouldn't there be little kissy-face lip prints all over it?" the Doctor asked, his voice having risen to a nasal, mocking tone.

"All right, all right, wiseass. But if it wasn't you, then who opened the flap?"

"Why are you asking me? I didn't even know the bloody thing was there!"

The Doctor looked down at the cup holder and lifted the flap. He shut it, hearing it click. Then he opened it again. He'd installed it with a simple slide mechanism so that Rose could maneuver it without his help, even though the inside of the holder was equipped with a vacuum, and the seal was impenetrable once shut.

The Doctor toyed with it for a few seconds, and Jack couldn't read his face. Had this brought back a deluge of Rose, or was he thinking of Martha, and wondering whether she'd seen it? Was he thinking of damage control, how he'd handle her if she blew up over the photo? Or was his mind somewhere else entirely, maybe with the SharKann? Or was he stewing over whatever was causing him to be an arse to him and Martha?

Eventually, the Time Lord sighed and let his hand slip down the console. "Is this yours?" he asked, picking something up off the console and holding it out toward Jack. It was a little black thing, cylindrical, hanging off a keychain.

"No," Jack said, taking it. He turned it over in his hands. It had a little button, and he pushed it. A light came on, and a tiny red dot shone on the wall opposite. "Oh, it's a laser pointer. It must be Tom's. I saw him fidgeting with it earlier."

The Doctor's body went unpleasantly hot all over. He gritted his teeth. Jack saw the flush come over him, and asked, "What's the matter? You look like one of those cartoons where the mercury rises in the guy's face until his head explodes."

"Martha tried to talk to me about something Tom had said, that had made her think," the Doctor whispered, teeth still gritted. "She said there was something she had to know."

"Oh," Jack said, his eyes wide. "Shit."

"You can say that again!" the Doctor shouted. "Oh, and I thought he was a decent bloke who just had some bad habits!"

"Bad habits?"

"Yeah. He…" the Doctor hesitated. "He, shall we say, _stepped out_ on Martha, that's why they're not together anymore."

"Stepped out? As in…"

"Posh hotel, leggy redhead, shaky alibi."

"Ah. Say no more."

"But please don't tell her I told you. She'd be really angry if she knew that I said anything. I mean, angrier than she already is."

"Well, I'd been wondering what happened. Why would he go and do a thing like that?"

"You're human and you have an overactive libido. You tell me."

"Sorry. Cheating hearts, not my area. I don't believe in cheating. Mostly because I don't believe, philosophically, that there is such a thing, but that's a debate for another day. Another century, really. "

The Doctor gave Jack a semi-quizzical, semi-irritated expression, which prompted Jack to try and get back on the ball.

"Actually, Doctor, I think I do know why, and you probably do too."

"I know why," the Doctor conceded. "And so does Martha. Doesn't make him any less of a wanker, though, especially now. What kind of a man blames… well, _me, _for his own self-esteem issues?"

"One who has to live with Martha Jones, I'm afraid," Jack pointed out, a tiny smirk coming over his normally very symmetrical features.

"And why did he open this flap, for the love of… what would make him do that?"

"Now that one, I really have no idea. Curiosity, probably. A disease called, _Gee I Wonder What This Thing Does._ And if he's got Martha on the run, he must have seen that picture and seized upon the opportunity. She's probably seen it, too, Doctor. Sorry. You have to talk to her."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" Jack threw up his hands. He gestured in front of him as though grabbing air. "What is the matter with you? You've got that weasel Milligan threatening to fuck up this relationship, the best thing that's happened to either one of you, possibly ever, and you're saying _maybe_? You're going to let him win, when all you have to do is explain. Really?"

The Doctor stewed for a few moments, staring at the floor, tapping his foot, holding his arms in close, crossed. He bit his lip hard, and tried not to explode.

"But then again," Jack continued. "You have been a total prick for the last few hours. I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Jack, don't push me."

"Hey, I'm not the one messing with your life. That's all you. And Milligan, of course."

The Time Lord began to pace. Always with the pacing. After a minute, the Doctor let out a cry of frustration, and beat one fist on his thigh. He turned and took a few angry steps away, then turned around and came back. "I'm going to take that guy and tie him to a pole in Siberia, along with Dekker. They can mind-fuck each other until the ice caps melt. Which is in one million, two hundred eighteen thousand and twenty-two years. Give or take."

"Erm, okay. I get Tom, but what the hell's Dekker got to do with any of this?"

The Doctor looked at Jack with something that resembled panic. He buried one hand in his hair, then seemed to lose impetus, and he leaned back against the console and sighed. He considered his words and tone carefully, and ultimately decided that there was no good way for the Doctor and Captain Jack Harkness to have this particular discussion. But, in light of things, he felt they should have it, since he'd messed up so royally by not having it with Martha.

So he just decided to dive in.

"Jack, do you have feelings for me?"

Jack's eyes went wide enough to light up Times Square. "What?"

"Do you?"

"What kind of feelings?"

"You know what kind. You make jokes and innuendos, and I know that's part of who you are. But is any of it real?"

"Jeez, Doctor. This is… what's brought this on?"

"It's a simple enough question."

"No, it's really not," said Jack, guarded, inching subtly away from the Doctor. "In fact, it's a very, very complicated question."

"Then try to pare it down. It's important that I know. Do you have feelings for me?"

"I think you know the answer."

"I want you to tell me."

Jack looked at the Doctor squarely with steel blue eyes. His jaw was set with determination, and he let out a strong exhale. "Yes. I do."

The Doctor nodded, not surprised. "Okay. Thank you. I appreciate your honesty."

"But it's more complicated than that."

"I know it is. I get it."

"There's Ianto, there's my _friendship_ with you, which is very, _very_ real, and something that I value above almost anything else. There's the fact that you, frankly, don't seem to swing in the many directions that I do. Though, what the hell do I know? You're a man of the universe – maybe you've seen and done it all, and have chosen in this phase of life to play the field with human females."

"Jack…"

"There's Martha in the mix, and my friendship with her. I know that I want _her_ to have you, not _me _to have you, even though I think sometimes that I might like to have you. It's lust, it's love, it's hero worship, it's fear, it's a feeling that we're kindred somehow. It's… it's like ten thousand things, all these variables and factors and things to consider, Doctor. It's a difficult question, why are you asking it?"

"Because Dekker thinks you're dangerous," the Doctor said. "You and Martha. He thinks it's not good for me to have people around me who lust after me, or whatever it is that you do, because it compromises your judgment."

"Is _that_ why you're being such a jackass? You're keeping us at bay so that we won't be blinded by your infernally distracting spectacularness?"

"Yes. That's why. I love Martha, and I love you, but Dekker's got me reeling and I can't shake it off. It's like venom – it's awful."

Jack groaned and leaned over on one of the railings and buried his head in his arms. "Doctor, for the universe's greatest living genius, you're quite the moron, do you know that?" he said into his coat's sleeves.

"Thanks."

"And Martha? Brilliant doctor, spectacular woman. Apparently not so bright either!"

"Lovely, Jack."

Jack stood up. "I'm serious! What the hell are either one of you doing listening to those two? Dekker's a technological genius but is, as far as I can tell, only semi-sentient. He's one step up from a damn Cyberman. And Milligan? Well, he's the opposite. Thinks with his heart and other influential body parts, but maybe not the smartest guy in town."

"What if they're right?" The Doctor was stoic now, eyes still and unseeing.

"They're playing on your worst fears, both of you," Jack shouted slowly, as though the Doctor were deaf and senile. "The things you and Martha dread the most – that's all. The only difference is that Tom might have something to gain from undermining Martha's confidence in you. Dekker, he's got no stake in any of it, he's just a bastard. "

"But Jack," the Doctor said emphatically. "What… if… they're… right?"

"What if?" asked Jack. "Let's examine. What if Tom's right, that you're still carrying a torch for Rose. Guess what, Doctor? You are. And you will, for a long, long time. Everyone has one that got away, somewhere in their past, and life goes on, and they manage to love again. You think about Rose still, but you love Martha, here and now. All Tom did was conveniently find a photo and turn an everyday phenomenon into something that would drive Martha nuts. He knows her well, knows she's got a Rose complex – so he messed with her a little bit. For revenge, to win her back… who knows. But it's not going to work, because you're not going to let it, and that's the bottom line, right?"

The Doctor was scowling, but he was nodding. Jack was making sense.

"And what if having feelings for you _does_ affect my judgment, and Martha's?" Jack went on. "I've got news for you: it does. It always has. If it didn't, we couldn't fight alongside you, and you wouldn't want us to anyway. The whole thing, it's pieces of a bigger picture, Doctor, _the_ big picture. You know that. The universe is not compartmentalised – everything is one. Saving planets, taking down the bad guy, loving you… it's all part of the same thing, comes from the same place within us. It's passion, it's a fire in our bellies. It's how we find you in the first place, and it's why you choose us. Who could ever expect a zombie like Dekker to understand something like that?"

The Doctor's head fell back, and he exhaled. Then he stretched his neck to the left, then the right.

"What if I wake up in the middle of the night from a dream, and I say Rose's name?" the Doctor asked.

Jack smiled at the Doctor's trepidation. Stars and planets and the fabric of time he could manipulate like Silly Putty, but handling women was beyond him. "Worse things have happened, Doctor. Just don't say it while you're doing sweaty, naked things with Martha and you'll be all right. She'll understand if you dream."

"What if it came down to saving me, or saving the world? What would you do?"

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "I think you're hot. You've got a nice little tush, but I wouldn't sacrifice humanity for it. Let's get some perspective."

The Doctor smiled a little. "Okay. Perspective."

Jack smiled widely now and slapped a hand on the Doctor's back. "My God, man, have you just been stewing in this all by yourself?"

"You know me."

"Well, cut it out. Go talk to your girlfriend, for crying out loud."

"She's busy with the kids by now. I'll talk to her when it's over."

"Doctor, I know that I said everyone has an ex and life goes on, and that's still true, but life is not black and white, and Martha is not made of stone," Jack said. He picked up the photo and held it open with both hands. "_This_ is a time bomb. If she saw it, then there's a little clock ticking in her brain, and before long, there will be a detonation. So defuse it. Now."


	24. DAY THREE:  Part VII

**Hi folks. I'm not sure if anyone noticed that I'd been putting Britain and Japan in the same time zone, but rest assured, I have rectified the situation! **

**

* * *

**DAY THREE: Part VII

Five p.m. in Japan meant five a.m. GMT, and that Great Britain was just now, tentatively, waking up. They were waking to a familiar world which might indeed end within the next nineteen hours. Everyone knew that "they" were coming "tomorrow," which was now today, and the entire globe was biting its fingernails.

Dr. Martha Jones wondered at her family, her friends, her Doctor, as she directed traffic in a triage bay in Tokyo. She had been given the full cooperation of two other doctors and five nurses. Frankly, it wasn't a very big hospital and the staff wasn't large to begin with, and the administrators were reluctant to give her any more than that. They did not want to divert resources away from the intensive care units, as apparently, traffic accidents over the past two days in Japan had been comparable to those in Britain.

"Dr. Jones, we've got two more monitors, we're still working on getting more," said Haruko, a very helpful nurse, the first person to volunteer to help when Martha had arrived. She was a couple years younger than herself, Martha guessed, and of all the people she'd met here, she liked Haruko the best.

"Thank you," Martha said. "Just put it over there with the others. How many do we have now?"

"Only ten," Haruko said sadly. "I'm very sorry. I know you need one hundred."

"Well, a hundred is wishful thinking. That's the best-case scenario," Martha said. "Just keep trying."

"Maybe Yoshio has found more. I will ask him to speak with you as soon as I see him."

"I'm here," said a male voice. Yoshio, a tall man, graying at the temples, was entering the room through double doors and was dragging a heart monitor with him. His gait was slow and laid-back, and stuck out among the fluttery Japanese. "Only could find one this time. The intensive care units are being stingy with the heart monitors, go figure."

"It's all right. Haruko, go back up, keep looking. Yoshio, can you get on the phone to other hospitals, see if they have any we could borrow, and while they're at it, any extra staff willing to lend their time?"

"I'll ask Dr. Sakamoto to do it," Yoshio said. "They're more likely to listen to him."

"Okay, thanks," Martha said as the two nurses turned to go.

She went back to a photocopy of the Doctor's instructions, written in his loopy handwriting. It was hard to read; his penmanship had the accent of his native script. It was beautiful, but difficult. Rather like the man himself.

The instructions told her how to hook the transmitter issued by Torchwood, and souped-up by the Doctor, to the mainframe computer system in the Japanese hospital. It was a lot of twisting of wires and cutting of things… she needed to concentrate, or, as the Doctor had pointed out, she could cause the whole hospital network to go down. That would be bad for two reasons. One: the hospital administrators would have her arrested, and two: patient files would be inaccessible and make treatment very difficult for delicate, critical cases.

She was just about to snip and strip a thin red cable which harboured teeny tiny fibre-optic wires underneath. She gulped and lowered her pincers…

"Dr. Jones, I was able to rig one of the brainwave monitors to read two at a time," said another man, coming up right on her left. She'd been concentrating so hard on the wires, she hadn't seen him coming. She cried out, startled. She clutched her chest, and took a long sigh.

"Sorry, Dr. Ohiro," she said. "You startled me."

"No, my apologies, please, Dr. Jones," he insisted, bowing. "I did not mean to startle you."

Dr. Ohiro was a plastic surgeon. Martha wasn't sure how much help he would be, but she tried not to be a snob, and to assure herself that he had been through medical school just like she had, and all the other doctors she knew. He'd just chosen a highly specialised field that didn't often lend itself to this kind of urgency. "Honestly, I'm not sure how long it's going to last or how accurate it will be."

"All we need is for it to tell us whether the patient is alive or dead," she told him. "I'm sure it will be fine."

"We won't be able to tell by looking?"

"Not necessarily."

"Yikes," said Dr. Ohiro. "If you say so."

She had been working for about an hour, when, just before the stroke of five, the language around her began to sound like Japanese, and she knew that the TARDIS had left the vicinity. She was on her own now, both with the crisis, and with the language. She wondered what had taken the Doctor and Jack so long to depart. She suspected the Doctor had taken a roundabout route back to the vessel, and she also suspected that Jack had taken the man to task for the way he'd been treating his friends. She obviously didn't have to try too hard to imagine the two of them standing in the console room hashing it out. She was glad that Jack was around; she had always suspected that the two of them were the only people in existence who could understand and empathise with either one of them.

But she also realised that sooner or later, she would have to learn how to handle the Doctor herself. Likely Jack had simply been blunt and forced him to say what was wrong, by using bad language or the subtle art of shouting. Martha's tactics of pleading and guilt-tripping, thus far, hadn't worked. She'd hoped that a nine-hundred-year-old would respond to more finesse than that, but clearly she had been wrong. It hadn't worked earlier when he was giving Jack a hard time about the incident in Scotland either. She reckoned she had a lot to learn.

Of course, she thought, as she choked down a small sob, that was assuming she and the Doctor would ever be together – really together – again. She had enjoyed almost forty-eight hours of his time and attention and love… how cruel it would be if it ended now, almost before it began. She still desperately wanted to be at his side, in his mind, in his bed, but given his attitude of late, she wasn't sure it was what _he _wanted anymore. She tried to shake off these thoughts by telling herself that she was still angry with him for being so cold and not telling her why…

…but thoughts of why she was on the outs with the Doctor only led to wondering again about Rose. She cursed Tom - this was his fault. He had known _exactly_ what he was doing bringing up Rose's name when he did. He knew Martha very, very well, and he knew that planting that particular seed would drive Martha barmy. She didn't know if he was doing it to drive a wedge between her and the Doctor, to break them up so that he could win her back, or whether it was just mindless, vengeful destruction. But she was now equally angry with Tom. Again.

Men could be awful sometimes. The only innocent bystanders in all of this were her, and ironically, Rose, who literally did not exist in this universe. So what was she supposed to do with that?

_Argh! Martha, concentrate. World in peril, job to do. Your soap opera of a life can wait._

Once again, she squinted at the Doctor's instructions, to verify the action she was about to take. She concentrated hard, and suddenly, her mobile phone rang in her pocket. She jumped, then dug into her scrubs, and looked at the display. Her old number.

"Doctor, you know full well that this is a very bad time," she said, answering the call.

"I know. But I don't want you to detonate," he said, his voice sounding strained.

"Detonate what?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you earlier…"

"Me too. But you had your chance. Right now, I'm very busy, and you're just going to have to wait. That's if I decide to give you a chance at all."

"Okay. Can I just say one thing?"

"What is it?"

"I didn't know that photo was there, I swear. I'll explain everything later."

"Photo? I have no idea what you're talking about… Doctor, I have to go, I don't have time for this right now."

"All right – you're going to do great."

"Yeah. Bye."

"Martha?"

"What?"

"I love you."

"Yeah, I know. Bye."

She turned off the phone and shoved it back into her pocket, almost totally unconscious of what had just transpired.

She went in with the pincers and snipped. She looked about to make sure no-one had heard or seen what she did, then she began very carefully stripping the rubber off, to expose the fibre-optics inside.

"Dr. Jones," another voice said, startling her again.

"Yes? Hi, what's your name again?_" _Martha said. The woman who had spoken blinked hard several times and tilted her head to one side. _Right, TARDIS gone, go with Japanese._ "Erm, _onamae wa, nan desu ka?"_

"Michiko," said the woman, pointing to herself. Then, the stout, middle-aged woman standing before her began talking a thousand miles per hour. Martha had to close her eyes to concentrate on what she was saying.

In slow, flawed Japanese, Martha repeated what she understood the woman to have said. "Help me understand. You and Masami have been in the children's ward, asking for parents to consent to their children being a part of this treatment."

Michiko nodded.

"They won't consent because they have never heard of it before, and you are not able sufficiently to explain," Martha continued.

Michiko nodded again, then added, "They will no longer speak to us. They want a doctor."

Martha sighed. "Okay. I'll go up and try to convince them." She looked at her tools and instructions and exposed wires nervously. Who would finish this job, and more importantly, what would someone do if they worked out what she was doing to their computer system? The Doctor had assured her it would cause no long-term damage, but it would look like a great blooming mess to an untrained observer.

"With respect, Dr. Jones," Michiko said meekly, holding her hand up, breaking eye contact. "You are foreign."

"Ah. I see," Martha said curtly, biting her tongue. It was one of the few things she disliked about Japan: she stuck out like a sore thumb here.

"Apologies."

"No, it's all right. Find Dr. Sakamoto, please ask him to see me as soon as possible."

"Anything else?"

"Yes," Martha said. "Will you please make some coffee for everyone?"

"Of course."

"Thank you, Michiko."

A few moments later, Dr. Sakamoto appeared at her side. "You requested to see me?"

"Yes. Michiko says the parents upstairs won't allow their children to participate unless they have the word from a doctor. I am foreign, you are not. If you will show me how to reach other hospitals and medical facilities in the area, I will continue the work you started, with requesting backup from other locations."

"All right," Dr. Sakamoto said. He pulled a packet of papers folded in half from the pocket of his white lab coat and handed it to Martha. "The ones highlighted in yellow are within an hours' drive. Everything else is way outside the city and might require some creative maneuvering. The two with big exes through them have said no, they can't help. The one circled is offering a couple of paramedics and three brain wave monitors."

"Fantastic. Thank you."

"Can you spare a nurse?" he asked. "I'd like to have Michiko's help."

"Sure," Martha told him. "I'll page her if I need her. Speaking of which, if you see Kenji, will you send him my direction?"

"Absolutely."

"_Arigato."_

_

* * *

_The scene was similar in Bombay and in Rio. They had nine hours until 14:30 GMT when the SharKann would touch down at Thames House and the show would begin. Every minute of those hours were needed to gather all the proper supplies – wrestling heart and brain monitors away from intensive care units was not an easy task anywhere in the world, and talking ambulance drivers into making rounds to pick up the monitors from all over the city and deliver them wasn't a piece of cake either. Hospitals were territorial about their equipment. Papers had to be signed, money had to be exchanged, certain doctors had to give "personal" authorisation for equipment to be moved… the logistics were a nightmare. But the Doctor had known that, and that's why he'd given them as much time as possible, and insisted that they all try and get some sleep.

Added to this was the legal nightmare of getting parents to consent to an ambiguous treatment introduced by foreign doctors, which the local doctors couldn't explain and the Brits were keeping hushed. Lawyers were called in, both on behalf of the families and the hospitals, as well as individual doctors and administrators. Martha, Rupesh and Tom were hard-pressed to find enough time just to install their transmitters without being detected, what with all the clamouring for their attention, the questions, and the noise.

* * *

"She doesn't want to talk right now," the Doctor said quietly, exiting the TARDIS, once again, at Torchwood.

"What did she say about the photo, when you mentioned it?" Jack asked.

"She said she didn't know what I was talking about. Maybe she didn't see it. I guess it doesn't matter. It has to wait now, whether I like it or not."

"Yep. Infuriating when people won't communicate, isn't it?" Jack said, winking.

The Doctor felt like shutting Jack down, and saying, "Belt up and let's do this thing." But he didn't. He nodded in agreement, and touched Jack's shoulder affectionately.

The two went up to the computer terminals.

"How's it going?" asked the Doctor.

"Martha's the furthest along," said Gwen. "In spite of having been the last to begin. She's about twenty-five per cent installed."

The readings on the screen showed different green bars, allowing them to see the level of operation of the visual feed, the transmitters, the master heart-rate monitor, the master brain-wave monitor, the central data system which hijacked files from the existing databases, the mobile phone network the Doctor had rigged, and even the status of the very computer systems they were looking at. As the three docs stealthily installed their equipment, the status bars were updated every forty-five seconds.

The red bar way over to the left showed the operating level of the full network link with the TARDIS. This was where the Doctor had added the biggest finishing touch, the unearthly touch, to the fabulous software Tosh had begun designing.

"It's slow-going," the Doctor said. "They're probably all being pulled in a million directions."

"Rupesh isn't too far behind Martha," Rhys reported. "He's at about twenty."

"Tom's at sixteen," Ianto said.

"Sounds good," the Doctor said. "That's more or less right on schedule. At noon, if any of them aren't at least at eighty per cent, let me know."

"What are you going to do now?" asked Jack.

"I have an egg sac to prepare for battle. Jack, why don't you come with me?"

* * *

At two in the morning Japanese time, 14:00 GMT, Martha was sitting on a sofa in one of the waiting rooms, with her head back, massaging her temples. A cup of cold coffee was sitting between her knees, and an old man and woman sat nearby, watching a television report run and re-run footage of children speaking English in unison in the streets of Yokohama, Hiroshima, Tokyo, and everywhere else imaginable upon this island nation.

Her phone rang. She glanced at the clock. Right on time.

"_Ohayo gozaimasu_, Doctor."

"Good afternoon, Martha Jones. How's it going over there?"

"My head's about to explode, but other than that, I'm great."

"I'll give you a scalp massage when this is over, okay? How are the kids?"

"The kids are fine. The parents are terrified."

"Well, that's to be expected."

"Adults are rubbish when they're scared."

"Don't I know it."

"Yeah, I think you do," she said poignantly.

"Martha, I…"

"So are Bombay and Rio online yet? Are they ready to go?"

"I hope so," the Doctor said. "I've spoken to Tom and Rupesh each twice in the last two hours. They got a bit befuddled about the equipment."

"That last leg of installation was a bugger," Martha agreed. "And your handwriting is very, very weird, I have to say."

"You did it without any problem," he said.

"There were problems. But it was a point of pride for me not to call."

"Stubborn," he said, teasing her quietly.

"Pot calling the kettle black," she reminded him.

"Well, are you ready to do this?" he asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"Okay, stand by."

Martha got up and tossed her coffee cup in a bin and made her way back to triage. She listened to a dialing sound, then she heard Rupesh say hello.

"Hi, Rupesh," the Doctor said. "All installed and ready?"

"Yeah. The others?"

"It's all go," the Doctor answered. "Martha's on the line already."

"Hey, Rupesh," she said.

"All right, kids, stand by for a call to Rio."

Once again, there was the sound of dialing, and then Tom's voice. "Doctor?"

"That's me. Everyone say hello to Tom!"

Martha and Rupesh said hello. Once back in triage, Martha hooked up the Bluetooth device issued from Torchwood, and stuck the phone in her breast pocket.

"Everyone, please report," the Doctor requested. "Tom, you first. We've got a video feed but Ianto says he can't see the whole room on the screen."

"We've got a full hundred here," Tom said proudly. "And a few to spare. One hundred and seven total. They're on nineteen brain monitors and sixty heart monitors."

"Anyone been sick or swooning?"

"Not yet, but that's why I'm here, yeah?"

"Apparently," said the Doctor. "Rupesh, Rhys says he's counting sixty-eight kids on the screen. Please tell me you've got more than that."

"Sorry, Doctor," he said. "We weren't able to get more than that. We even went into the styx, but…"

They could all hear the Doctor sigh in a bit of despair. "It's okay, you did your best. What about equipment?"

"We've only got ten brain monitors and forty-six heart monitors."

"Okay. Martha, Gwen can't see any of the kids because the room is so crowded."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Martha said. "Hang on a tick."

She got up on a desk, stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled as loudly as she could. She shouted, "I need all parents to leave the room at once. You may trust that your children are in good hands. You will see them again shortly. Thank you."

The room was filled with the nervous din of parents and kids kissing and saying goodbye. It took a minute or two for the room to clear, and as it did, Martha counted the kids.

"We've got an even eighty," she told the Doctor. "Forty-one brain monitors, sixty-two heart monitors."

"For a grand total of two hundred fifty-five children," the Doctor said. "Blimey."

"Doctor, getting parents to agree to this is not as easy as it looks," she said. "Tom's experienced with kids and their frantic parents. The rest of us just have our good ol' bedside manner, which may have been a bit clumsy today."

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to put that on you lot. I was hoping for three hundred, but you know what? We'll take what we can get – we were lucky to get this many, right? It just means we'll just have to keep a closer watch."

All three MDs agreed.

"Okay, team. Say a little prayer for us," the Doctor said. "We're going into the belly of the beast."

"Good luck, boys," Tom said.

"Yep – knock 'em dead," from Rupesh.

"Doctor, if you die in there, I'm going to kill you," Martha said.

"Duly noted, thank you for the warning, Dr. Jones."


	25. DAY THREE:  Part VIII

**The aliens are here! Witness the Tenth Doctor at his loquacious best! Enjoy!**

DAY THREE: Part VIII

"What do you think you're doing?" Jack asked. The three doctors in remote locales in hospitals across the world could hear everything happening inside the Torchwood hub, through the Doctor and Jack's Bluetooth devices.

"I'm going with you," said Gwen. She cocked a weapon.

"No, you're not, sweetheart," Jack protested. He took her by the shoulders and pushed her back down onto her chair. "You need to let us handle it. We've been through this."

"You're being bloody stupid," Gwen shouted, leaping back up to her feet. "Both of you! And you're a complete nutter if you think I'm going to just fall in line because you called me sweetheart. And if you ever do that condescending taking-me-by-the-shoulders thing again…" Her voice had been reduced to something like a hiss.

"Gwen you're not in charge here," Jack insisted. "And frankly, neither am I. The Doctor is. He says it's two, so it's two. That's the end of it."

"All due respect, sir, I don't think it's prudent for just two of you to go in there," Ianto added. "Unarmed. We have no idea how large this thing is, what kind of power it wields…"

"Normally, you know I would agree with you. But, we've got him," Jack told him, gesturing toward the Doctor. "He's like having our own personal alien battalion."

Ianto looked the Doctor up and down. Frankly, for the last couple of days, Ianto had been feeling torn between jealousy and admiration whenever the Doctor was about. He was not about to show either one of those emotions to the Doctor himself – not ever. "All right," he replied, tight-lipped. "But he doesn't look like a battalion.

"Given," said the Doctor, suspecting of Ianto's conflicting emotions. "But I have a respiratory bypass system, a good friend who can't be killed: two absolutely necessary attributes for going into the presence of an alien species who may very well detonate a gas bomb or a biological weapon. And I don't do _armed_."

"What about the rest of the building?" asked Ianto.

"I've seen to that, too," the Doctor assured him. "I didn't just put a standard perception filter over the room. It's even more like the TARDIS than that. It's fooling everyone into thinking it's in a different dimensional space, like the TARDIS is. Right now, that room doesn't even share the same oxygen as the rest of the building. It sort of doesn't even exist in this reality right now."

"But we can come and go from it as we please, right?" asked Jack.

"Yeah," the Doctor said. "It's all just… technical mumbo jumbo. If we open the doors, we can still walk back out into the hallway."

Jack nodded his approval.

Ianto pursed his lips, not knowing what to say. Gwen clicked her tongue and put all her weight on one hip as she slung the weapon over her shoulder. Even she did not have something smart to say to that. Rhys chuckled at her.

"What _you_ have, my Torchwood friends," the Doctor continued. "Is three sets of eagle eyes and a vested interest in the people involved. Two absolutely necessary attributes for a computer surveillance team, sitting at the heart of the technical operation. And our white-coat-wearing comrades…"

"…they've got good looks and nimble tongues," Jack finished.

They all stared at him.

"What? They're charming and can speak foreign languages, and can convince others to do things for them. That's all I meant."

"Jack, rein it in, will you?" the Doctor groaned.

"And they've got medical degrees," Jack added, feigning exasperation. "I was getting to that."

* * *

Dekker had spent the last several hours adjusting and re-adjusting the habitat created for the 456's arrival. He tightened the screws holding the thing together, he dialled up and down the chemicals, took readings again and again, and mightily resisted the urge to do inappropriate things in front of the security cameras, just because he could.

He didn't want to venture out into the hallway for fear of running into Frobisher, or anyone else. He had no idea what would happen to the Doctor's perception filter if any sort of attention was drawn to it, whether he could blow its cover, so he decided not to take any chances.

"Oh thank God," he muttered as he heard the TARDIS gears sounding in the large room. When the Doctor stepped out with pretty Jack, Dekker called out, "Well, it's about bloody time."

"I knew you were going to say that," the Doctor said, biting his lip, hands in pockets. "Always a pleasure, Mr. Dekker."

"Good seeing you, too. But you already knew that, didn't you?" Dekker said silkily. "And Captain, ditto."

"You just keep your thoughts to yourself from now on," the Doctor said. "I don't want to hear a peep out of you unless life or limb is at stake, all right?"

Dekker made a big show of zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

"Have you tested the system?" asked the Doctor.

Dekker just nodded.

"What did you do?"

Dekker shrugged.

"Oh, for pity's sake," the Doctor yelled. "We have about five minutes before these things get here. Quit playing stupid games and tell me!"

"I shouted things at the cameras, including that I would be bringing outsiders in, to threaten national security, all right? And no-one said boo about it, so I think we're safe."

"Good."

The Doctor dashed into the corners and tested all the little plastic pieces with the sonic. Next he seemed to be checking the exits, verifying that the room was sealed. The device made noises that apparently pleased him.

"Doctor, what do you need from me?" asked Jack.

"Keep him quiet," the Doctor said, not looking up. "And stand there looking threatening. That military garb of yours can do wonders."

"That's it? You might as well have me mopping floors."

"Jack," the Doctor sighed. "That's why I brought you. That's why I bring you into the places I do. Because you'll _know_ when to jump in. I don't have to prepare you for absolutely every contingency. Just… have some common sense and you'll be fine."

"_You're_ trusting _me _to show common sense?" Jack asked. "Are you feeling feverish in any way?"

The Doctor strode up to his friend. "Are you going to let me die, or do something stupid that will destroy the planet?"

"No."

"Good. I didn't think so. Are you going to let Dekker the idiot savant die, or do something stupid that will destroy the planet?"

"No."

"Will you know those things if and when you see them?"

"Probably."

"Then my plan is flawless. You see how that works?"

"You should have let me stay behind and rig up something with the rift, and brought Martha in here with you," Jack protested. "She can do _this_, but she can't manipulate the rift!"

"I don't need the rift, Jack. What I need is someone at my right hand who is invulnerable to disease and gas attack, and a medical professional. I could have sent _you_ to Japan to deal with cerebral hemorrhaging and dangerously increased heart rates, anesthetic balances and children passing out from high-frequency pressure causing the brain to swell against the parietal bone. And I suppose I could have brought Martha in here and just crossed my fingers that she'd survive a biological attack… but it just seems a bit imprudent, given that she's a doctor and you're immortal."

Jack's answer was cut off by a loud noise. Suddenly, there was a slight quake, the boom of something big coming close.

"Oh, hello," the Doctor muttered. "Nothing like making an entrance."

Within seconds, the room was flooded with blood orange light as a big ball of fire filled the inside of the giant aquarium thing that Dekker had constructed. The glass structure was teeming with flames and gas and smoke, and the being inside seemed to settle in, and let out a long, disgusting exhale.

Dekker leaned over and whispered to Jack, "Are you lot going to tell me that the suits downstairs didn't hear that?"

"They heard it," Jack whispered back. "But as I understand the perception filter, they'll either have vaguely forgotten about it once the alien is in this room… or they won't be able to find the room."

"That makes no sense."

"I'm the wrong guy to ask," Jack said. "But don't bother him now – he's busy."

The gas and smoke continued to teem within, and the alien itself was not visible to the humanoids outside the box. No-one moved for a few moments. Then, the Doctor, as usual, broke the silence.

"Well, hello there," the Doctor said. "Did you have a nice trip?"

Silence.

"You know what, mister?" he asked, striding forward toward the tank. He knocked on the glass. "You've been scaring the pants off these poor people. I think you owe them an apology, don't you? It's only the polite thing to do, since you are, technically, on their turf, and they've been so gracious in accommodating you. How many house guests on this planet do you think get their own poisonous habitat built for them in the host's living room, eh?"

Silence.

"Well, guests who aren't tropical fish, anyway."

Silence.

The Doctor took several steps back from the tank and regarded it, hands in pockets. He looked it over, and marvelled at the impracticality of it. Why would an alien species invade any planet where they couldn't breathe? He knew the answer, of course, but it still seemed daft to him.

"But you're not so big now, in your little glass bubble, are you? What exactly do you hope to accomplish from there? Will you be relying upon your _ominous presence_ to make the whole planet bow and do your bidding? Come on! You've clearly never met a human being in your life! You'd need _minions_ for something like that, and I reckon you haven't got any. And even if you did, they'd all have to be all shut up in a tank somewhere just like you. Not an easy way to intimidate a planet, I have to say. Just ask Howard Hughes."

Silence.

"Besides, if I had to guess, I'd say that you _are _the minion. What do you say, am I right? I'm right, aren't I?"

"I am a soldier," the thing in the tank said.

"Oh, it speaks! Well done, that," the Doctor said. He took a deep breath and looked the tank over once more. "I'll give you one thing, you are a clever lot. Making the kids speak in unison, and in English! Mind you, in certain parts of the world, that alone could get a person killed. Very cheeky of you, sir. Are you a sir? I don't know, I don't want to make assumptions. I'm an equal opportunity sort of a bloke."

Silence. A longer one this time, as the Doctor's demeanour changed. The whimsy in his voice disappeared, if only temporarily.

"You're the SharKann," he said. "And you're here for the children, correct?"

"You call us the 456," a voice said. It was a deep, rough, reverberating voice. And it didn't so much sound out in the room as in their minds. It was the voice that Jack imagined the devil must possess, if there were such a thing. It spoke slowly, deliberately, as though hampered by a great weight. It seemed to speak perfect English with the local accent, which somehow made the whole phenomenon even creepier. Even to someone who _did not_ speak with the local accent, like Jack, it felt a bit too close to home. Ordinarily, Jack would have assumed that it was the TARDIS translating for him, but given the last few days, the broadcasts of _We are coming_, he reckoned it was a linguistic skill on the part of the SharKann. They knew English, somehow.

"No, the humans call you the 456 after the frequency you use to communicate," the Doctor corrected. "They had no other tools for naming you. I am not human. I do, however, speak on their behalf. And I know you well."

There was another long silence. "Who are you?" it asked, finally.

"We'll get to that later. What are your demands?" The Doctor crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, standing with his feet apart. Jack liked it when he did that. It meant that the Doctor meant business.

"We have only one."

"And that would be?"

"Ten per cent."

The Doctor's jaw dropped. He pitched forward in shock. "What? Are you mad? I mean, I'm not kidding… have you gone completely sack o' hammers, mate? Ten per cent?" He started laughing. "That is so, so, _so_ never going to happen."

"Then we will vaporise the planet and all of its inhabitants. We require ten per cent."

For the first time, one of the MD's voices came through over the Bluetooth. "No fucking way," Tom exclaimed. "Tell them no, Doctor!"

"Ten per cent of what?" It was Martha. She was pretty sure she knew the answer, but she wanted confirmation.

"The kids, Martha," said Tom. "They want our kids."

"Shhhh," Jack shot at them. "Guys, not now."

"All right, all right, just to clarify," the Doctor said, beginning to pace in circles in front of the tank. "You want ten per cent of the population of human children, to take back to your planet with you."

"Yes."

"And they will never, ever be returned, never see their families again."

The Doctor and Jack could hear gasps through the Bluetooth.

"Yes."

"And they will live horrible meaningless, empty, torturous existences before they finally die from exhaustion after an unnaturally prolonged life, say two or three hundred years from now."

A delay, and then, "Yes."

"And you think the people of Earth will _agree_ to this."

"We offer a choice."

"Their children or their planet? That's not a choice, it's a threat. It's an ultimatum. It's like battlefield tactics for the mentally challenged. That is completely without scruple, completely without honour. Are you a race without honour?"

Another delay. "No."

"If you had true honour, you'd allow them to fight properly for their children, give them a chance," the Doctor said. "Don't just wield your almighty powers of destruction and expect them to bow down. Where's the honour in that? Where's the fight?"

"We require ten per cent."

"Yeah, I know. You said that already. And don't think I haven't noticed that you have deftly avoided my question. Where is your honour?"

"We require ten per cent."

"And I've already said it's not going to happen. So get back in your ship and go home."

"Those terms are unacceptable."

"Oh yes?"

"Yes."

"Well, my friend, this is the part of the story when I give _you_ a choice. The same kind of choice, except that if you choose wisely, no-one gets hurt. I'm not going to give you a lose-lose scenario, as you have given the Earth."

"Explain."

The Doctor began to pace again. "See, you come here with your creepy broadcast system and your threats and your deep gravelly voice and your clipped, clean syllables, and yeah yeah, you're terrifying and all that. Chances are, the humans would try and find a way to work with you, because it's what they do when the chips are down. Or they would try to nuke you, because that's also what they do.

"But you've forgotten one thing. Children are the greatest resource of this planet – they always have been. Humans, they put the fate of their world in the hands of the children, they have hope that the next generation will fix everything, see the world through to the next life and the next after that. The bonds between generations are nothing to be trifled with, which is something that you, the SharKann could never understand. And that is why you will lose."

The alien seemed to contemplate, then it said, "Incorrect."

The Doctor smiled wickedly.

"Oh, that's right," he said. "I am incorrect, you've got me there. Can't pull one over on you, can I?"

He paused and gave a pregnant silence, then continued. "Because you _do_ understand. You do understand that bond, the desire to protect your young, the survival instinct that makes children precious, don't you? Ahhh, yes. The SharKann and their important generational transitions."

Silence.

"Captain?" the Doctor said. He reached out.

Jack turned and entered the TARDIS. Ten seconds later, he returned with the coconut-shaped egg sac, and he put it in the Doctor's hand.

The Doctor asked the alien, "Can you see what I'm holding?"

"Yes."

"Does it make you nervous?"

"How did you obtain it? We demand to know."

"Flew to your planet and nicked it," the Doctor answered, holding the sac in one hand, admiring it.

"That is impossible."

"It's really not, because well, here it is," the Doctor said, looking at it, turning it over in his hands. "And like I told you before, I'm not human. Everything you know about the human race is now out the window because you're dealing with me now. And believe me, you don't want to do that if you can help it."

"Explain yourself."

"If you don't leave, I'll destroy the egg sac. You threaten our kids, we threaten yours, simple as that."

"No. Explain… your… _self._"

The Time Lord smirked. "I'm the Doctor. This is the Earth. Not a good combo for those who seek to destroy. You should consider that your only warning."

"Awesome!" Jack exclaimed, whispering.

"I love when he does that," Martha responded quietly into the Bluetooth system.

A long pause extended and heightened the moment. Jack and Dekker looked at each other and shrugged. Through the Bluetooth, the Doctor could hear Rupesh whisper, "What's going on now?" and Tom whisper back that he didn't know.

"Collateral damage," the alien finally said. "Saving the life of this young does not balance equally with relinquishing the human children, and the needs of our world. Your plan has failed."

"Mm, yeah, too bad," said the Doctor. "But you might want to reconsider, because… well, did I mention that I can travel in time? Yeah, I can. So I nipped back a hundred years, give or take, and I swiped this egg sac from the royal household. Incubating inside this little coconut is the Crown Prince Rthedd."

They could hear the alien breathing, but it did not speak.

"Oh, don't have a growly-groany answer for that do you, smart guy? Interesting. Because as you know, being a seasoned time-traveller yourself, this guy's birth is a fixed point in time. He ushers your planet into a new era of technology, new techniques in battle and recreation. He brings you lot out of the dark ages, and fathers the twin princesses who utterly defeat your greatest enemies, the MorDarians and assimilate them into your culture as lower-class citizens. Not something I condone, mind you, but history says it is what it is. The MorDarians then wither away, paving the way for you to take over their trade routes and negotiate with planets previously sealed off to you. Oh, my lonely friend, your choice is clear, I think."

More, harder breathing.

"Think of it. Think of the strange and dark world you would return to," the Doctor goaded. "Because if Prince Rthedd dies in infancy, then his brother Smydded will come to power in a few years, and he is… well, he's a bit special, isn't he? Not as clever as his brother by a long shot, and he fathers a pair of illegitimate drunken sons who nearly disintegrate the Vozterian jungle which provides all of the nutrients in the soil for your planet. You want them in charge, with no twin princesses to temper them?"

Another long silence ensued. Tense and quiet, the SharKann in the cage seemed to contemplate.

But the Doctor kept running.

"And by the way, long as we're on the subject, I really don't fancy causing a paradox, because Rthedd signed the treaty that allowed human pre-adolescent endorphins to be trafficked into your world as a drug, which is why you are here. So if that doesn't happen, then you never come here and this is all just a great big, timey wimey mess. It might end in the destruction of _your_ world, and I really don't fancy that, either. Odd, isn't it? I try not to annihilate planets. Or, at least I've been cutting _way_ back."

In the ensuing silence, Dekker commented to Jack, "Blimey, when I knew him before, he was more the strong silent type."

Jack chuckled. "These days, when you go into the belly of the beast with the Doctor, you have to be prepared for some talking. A whole lot of it."

"We require ten per cent," the SharKann said at last.

The Doctor's eyes grew steely and mean. His teeth gritted and he held the egg closely, in one hand. "You really need to think this over."

"No."

"I'm giving you one more chance."

"We will not accept. We require ten per cent."

"All right. You asked for it," the Doctor said. "Martha, Tom, Rupesh, you're on."


	26. DAY THREE:  Part IX

DAY THREE: Part IX

There was a thick cord, made up of hundreds of other cords, all hooked into an adapted input device. Martha Jones took a deep breath and plugged it into the rigged-up transmitter, which was wired to the computer network. The hospital's system began going haywire, blinking cursors all across the screen and occasionally showing a lucid _error_ message, before blipping out again confusedly.

"Okay Doctor," she muttered. "Here goes nothing."

She made a quick adjustment to the wires in back of the CPU, wires she had stripped and reconstituted. A command prompt came up on the screen then, and she typed in an equation, a command that would confuse the CPU just enough to bring down the defences, open up the network and allow the TARDIS to lock onto the transmitter.

Symbols came up on the screen, indicating that Rio and Bombay were ready to fly, but the TARDIS had not yet found the network. This was worrying – the Doctor should have been online before anyone else.

"Doctor, are you all right? Doctor?"

She heard gasping over her Bluetooth. It was unmistakably the Doctor's breath.

"Jack! What's happening? One of you, talk to me!"

Eighty children stood in a circle around the room, each hooked to some type of monitor, sometimes two at a time, looking worried. Martha couldn't hide her panic. She didn't want the children to see her this way, but she was unable to calm down.

"Martha!" she heard a raspy whisper from Jack. "Martha, don't stop what you're doing! Keep going!"

"Tell me what's happening!"

"Martha, just keep going!"

Martha obeyed, but she could hear everything. Jack shouting, the Doctor gasping, no more words from the alien nor Mr. Dekker. Not being able to see or to help was killing her. She went about her duties for the next few minutes with tears streaming down her face, and with a great big lump of something welling up in her chest. It was cutting off her air, but she had a room full of children to attend to, and instructions on saving the world.

Although, if things weren't going as planned inside Thames house, then it might all be moot. This all hinged on the Doctor being able to get out of there in a timely manner.

Rupesh and Tom, she could hear, were alternately shouting commands at kids and staff members in their respective countries in their respective foriegn languages. But every now and then, one of them would shout out in English, asking to be told what's going on, or as a reassurance to one another. By now, Gwen and Ianto had piped up and were asking about the situation inside Thames House, demanding that Jack or the Doctor report.

Martha didn't say another word, except in Japanese, to the folks in the room with her. Her fear was deep and private, and she didn't care to have everyone on the frequency hear her break down any further.

* * *

The entire room was teeming with the same poison that Dekker had pumped into the giant alien tank.

"Shit!" Jack shouted after a few seconds. Dekker was on the floor unconscious. "Hey! Hey you!" he shouted, slapping Dekker's cheeks. "Are you in there? Wake up!"

There was no answer. Jack couldn't even tell if the man was breathing. They had to get him into he TARDIS and out of there.

But when he looked to his left, the Doctor had gone to his hands and knees, hacking, gasping. "Doctor, I thought you said you could survive this!"

The Doctor nodded in the fog, and gestured for Jack to give him a minute. Jack came to his side and threw his shoulder under the Doctor's arm, and lifted. The Doctor used his free hand to grab onto Jack's coat. He tugged hard, and Jack looked at him squarely.

"No," the Doctor croaked, choking a bit. "Him first!" He pointed at Dekker.

"Doctor..."

"Trust!" the Doctor spat, before hacking away again.

With a cry of frustration, Jack did what the Doctor said. He lifted Dekker under the arms and dragged him backwards into the TARDIS, leaving him on the metal floor, just inside. When he came back out, to his relief, the Doctor was on his feet, standing upright. He was coughing, but he was no longer doubled over in agony. As Jack got closer, he could see that the Doctor had the sonic held aloft, and it was making a sickly gurgling noise.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked. "We have to get out of here."

The Doctor nodded, picked up the egg sac which had fallen to the floor when he did, and the two of them stumbled back into the TARDIS. The Doctor fell upon the controls and dematerialised out of that infernal room inside Thames House. He was still coughing.

Jack was on the floor with Dekker's wrist in his hand. "Doctor, there's no pulse."

The Doctor coughed, and nodded. "Give us a minute." He put both hands on the console and seemed to be concentrating on something.

"Everything all right?" Rupesh's voice asked over the comm.

"Dekker might be dead," said Jack. "But the two of us are fine. I think. Just keep plugging, Bombay, all right?"

"I have a bypass system, means I can go without breathing for a while," the Doctor said. "But it's not foolproof. Takes me a few minutes to get it going, then it takes me a few minutes to recover. Just do your thing, Rupesh."

Jack was sure that he heard a little muffled cry of relief coming from Tokyo, but he didn't say anything.

"Doctor, are you sure that stuff can't get out of the room?" Jack asked, gazing down into Dekker's lifeless face. "There are hundreds of people in this building, and one whiff of that gas..."

"For now, they're safe," the Doctor croaked, in a voice not quite his own. "But that filter isn't going to last forever. We have to get moving."

"Fine, do what you have to," Jack said. "I'll try and get Dekker sorted out."

The Doctor slapped Jack on the back and said, "Okay you lot, stand by for departure."

As he was firing up the console, Jack took the opportunity. "Hey, Rio, Bombay, Tokyo! Dekker's inhaled all that poisonous stuff from the SharKann's atmosphere. What do I do?"

"Give him oxygen," Tom said. "Get him breathing, and once he's stable he'll need a transfusion. His blood's been poisoned as well."

"Great, thanks," Jack said. He picked up Dekker around the middle and flung the old man over his shoulder like a large sack of rice.

"Jack, there's a plasma spinner in the TARDIS infirmary that you can use to determine blood type," Martha offered. "Hopefully one of us can donate."

"Yeah, no problem, 'cause I use a plasma spinner on a daily basis," Jack said. "I'll just concentrate on the oxygen for now, okay?"

"Make sure it's not too highly distilled, because that could cause brain damage," Rupesh advised. "Start out slow, then dial it up a few millilitres every fifteen seconds or so."

"Gotcha."

"Pump the lungs like you're giving CPR at first," Tom instructed.

"Yeah, in fact, start doing that before you even put the mask on," Martha agreed. "Get as much of that rubbish out of his system as possible ahead of time."

"Everyone ready?" they all heard the Doctor say.

Variations on _yes_ came over the comm as the three doctors steadied themselves.

On the screen in the console room, the Doctor could see that all three hospitals where he'd stationed his soldiers on Earth were online, their transmitters had been opened up and locked onto the TARDIS' transmission system. In a little makeshift cradle to his right, ready to be zapped with enough power to discharge the SharKann's hold on an entire planet, lay the brown egg sac. Inside the egg sac, there was an unknowing being incubating. A prince who would grow up to be great and terrible, he would change history and usher the SharKann into a new era.

But right now, he was a foetus, and helpless.

The children of Rio, Bombay and Tokyo were hooked up to monitors. Tom, Rupesh and Martha had rigged the monitors to output as well as interpret input as usual. The monitors were tied into the transmitters, so that the building blocks of the children's consciousness, their heartbeat and brainwaves, could be transmitted back off the planet and into the TARDIS. The frequency was 456, and the target was the SharKann. The frequency broadcast from supersonic speakers from three strategic points on Earth, coming to a point in the TARDIS hovering high above, like a pyramid, it would hurt them mightily. It would overload their faculties. Their use of the children had backfired, and they would be receiving a taste of their own medicine at two hundred and fifty times the capacity that was comfortable for them.

And the egg sac, at the epicentre? The thing that would absorb all of that energy and shoot the frequency back home? That was their punishment. That was what they bloody got for messing with the Earth and not listening to the Doctor. He had given them a chance, he'd warned them. He'd tried to reason with them, but to no avail. And the baby prince would have to die. Sure, he _could_ accomplish the retreat of the SharKann without destroying the life of an infant being, but he'd made this plan knowing that he'd need to make a bold statement to any and all who were watching, and thinking of invading or poking and prodding at his second-favourite planet in existence. They take Earth's children, the Earth takes theirs – simple as that. It's like a telephone call from the rift, but darker and nastier, as he'd told Martha.

But his Time Lord guts were churning. The longer he thought, the tougher be became on the outside, the more his insides boiled, the more the sense of right and wrong and of a continuum in his veins went cold and sour. Changing a fixed point in history, destroying a helpless being to _spite_ its people? Messing with the laws of time, and with the intergalactic laws of cruelty and reasoning – was this who he was?

No, it wasn't. This was the opposite of who he was. The good in him, which had initially spurred him to it, now wouldn't allow it.

And there _was_ still so much good in him. His friends saw to that.

He cherished them, and felt so grateful to have them. And most importantly, he really, really loved Martha. He had thought that he'd do anything to save her, save her planet – he'd thought it was his duty. When you're in love, you break the rules, push aside your beliefs and come through for the good of love. But Dekker, in his infinite mockery, had shown him that's not the way. We don't sacrifice our principles for a pretty face, and we don't give up what's right for what feels good.

He saw that he'd been going about it all wrong. He'd been reacing to Dekker's revelations in all the wrong ways. Shunning his friends and pushing them aside? It wasn't him, not who he was, not who he wanted to be. He saw it all now. Martha, Jack, his soul, all wrapped in one beautiful package. All of the good and love and companionship, it was connected. It was connected with the time continuum that he saw and felt in his bones, the vortex and the responsibility and everything that made him a Time Lord. He was the Doctor; he saved, he did not destroy. He loved, he did not hate.

And he had to save the egg sac, because it was the only way to make any of it right. The egg sac shouldn't be here – shouldn't have even crossed his mind.

But time was running out – he could feel that in his bones and veins as well.

High above the Earth, embroiled in a personal struggle, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bombay's transmission was beginning. He heard the Torchwood crew shout to him that Rupesh's machinery was loading up. A status bar showed him that in a few short seconds, there would be detonation of the children's consciousnesses, ready to put a soon-to-be-deadly pressure on the life form inside the coconut.

Then, Tokyo's status bar came online. Gwen and Martha both warned him over the comm that it was time, followed quickly by Tom in Rio.

He felt the jolt of energy entering the TARDIS from the Bombay transmission. The egg glowed.

"Martha!" he screamed. "I can't do it! Call of your transmission! Do it now!"

"What?" she cried back.

"I can't do it! It's a helpless being, and it will die! It's too important! Make it stop!"

"I don't know how, Doctor! What the hell are you on about?"

"The egg, this will explode it!" he shouted, hands on the console, knuckles white. His voice cracked with frustration and sadness, and the screaming was desperate. "Please, Martha, it's already dangerously pressurised! Call it off! Cut off the wires from the transmitters! Rupesh! Tom! Do it!"

"No!" Martha screamed. "You two, don't you dare! Doctor, what is wrong with you?"

"Do it!" he screamed back. He seemed to be in pain. He was reeling from the horrible decision he almost made and was hating himself.

She could hear the pain and urgency in his voice, and it hurt her. Nevertheless, "Tom, Rupesh, do _not_ disengage the transmitters," Martha said forcefully. "We'll have to bag this whole thing if you do that, and start over. We cannot afford that!"

"What is this, Martha? What's going on?" Tom shouted.

"If we cut off the transmitters, we'll have no way to broadcast back to the SharKann and make them leave," she said. "_Do not_ listen to the Doctor!"

"What?" Rupesh shouted.

"Just this once," Martha pleaded with the two male medics. "Don't listen to him. Listen to me!"

She could hear the Doctor on the comm system, panting, gasping. Now, it was not for air, but for purchase, for a grasp on reality and a handle on what he needed to do next. Finally, he said, desperately, "Martha, just cut it. I can't let it die, I can't, I can't..."

"I'm sorry, Doctor," she insisted. "I'm not cutting the feed. You'll have to find another way."


	27. DAY THREE:  Part X

DAY THREE: Part X

Jack, having heard the commotion, ran down the hall and skidded into the console room. He saw the Doctor bent at the waist, his head in his hands, leaning on the console.

"What are you standing there for?" he asked. "Doctor, we have, like, _zero _time!"

The TARDIS felt a shockwave coming from the Tokyo transmission, the specific transmission that Martha Jones had refused, against the Doctor's orders, to cease. The Doctor stood suddenly upright, tears in his eyes, and put his hands on the glowing egg sac.

"Can't you just take it off the cradle?" asked Jack. "I don't know, shield it with your person?"

"If it's in the TARDIS, it will absorb the energy," the Doctor said. "I rigged the children's broadcast to home in on the SharKann energy signatures at several times the normal magnitude, specifically conducting through the atmosphere in the TARDIS..." He trailed off.

The Doctor stared, momentarily wide-eyed into the distance, and then hollered a cry of joy. "Aah! I know! I have it!"

"What?" shouted Jack.

The Doctor put the egg sac in Jack's arms and said, "Hurry! Run! Put it back into the incubator and seal it! That will take it out of the TARDIS atmosphere, and put it back in its own!"

Jack did as he was told without a word, and in a flash, he was out of the room.

The third transmission came in from Rio, and the TARDIS jostled once again. This time, it was stronger; Tom had more kids in Rio, more energy to send.

"Doctor," Rhys' voice came over the system. "Something isn't right in Bombay. Rupesh is... running about... a lot. What is it, Rupesh? What's happening?"

"Same here, Doctor," Ianto said. "Tom, report!"

"Martha? What's going on?" Gwen asked. "Doctor, we've got a situation in Tokyo too. Martha? Martha!"

* * *

Amid the eerie scream that all of the children were emitting in the transmission process, Tom and Rupesh were frantic. Like Martha, they had a crisis on their hands, and couldn't slow down for an explanation.

Martha could hear Gwen's voice loud and clear through her Bluetooth, desperately asking to be kept in the loop. But she could not explain that in the last ten seconds three small children had collapsed and were seizing on the floor and bleeding from the nose. She could not explain that the first girl to fall, a three-year-old, was now experiencing the uniquely grotesque phenomenon of bruising in the whites of her eyes, and that the second child, a five-year-old boy was foaming at the mouth.

Martha rushed to the girl's side, and the two Japanese doctors descended upon the other fallen children, while other hospital personnel rushed to back them up, and to check the vitals of the other children.

"Martha, are they hemorrhaging?" she heard the Doctor ask desperately.

"Yeah," was all she could manage, before she began shouting commands. On short notice like this, they needed an anaesthesiologist, a bone saw and the proper facility cleared right away. When the third child showed bruising in the whites of his eyes as well, she duplicated her request. She could hear Tom and Rupesh yelling as well, and assumed they were asking for the same supplies and personnel in Portuguese and Hindi.

The Doctor cursed loudly. "It's because..." he said. "Damn it!"

"What, Doctor?" from Jack.

"It's because the kids are outputting at full force, but there's no outlet for it, nothing to transmit out of the TARDIS, so the pressure is building and nowhere to go! We're literally bleeding energy right back at them!" the Doctor said. "We needed that egg! Argh!"

"Doctor," Martha said, just a bit frantic. "I don't want to have to resort to the bone saw again!"

"You wouldn't cut the feed!" he yelled at her. "I told you to stop transmission!"

"I don't want my planet overtaken by aliens!" she shot back. "Doctor – Earth in peril, children dying. This is what you do best! Think!"

The Doctor let out another frustrated, angry cry. An expletive flew from his mouth once again, and he paced the floor of the console room like a caged tiger.

At last, he fell upon the controls and the doctors and the Torchwood staff could all hear the gears of the TARDIS coming through. "Hold on!" he shouted.

"Where are we?" asked Jack.

"You're back!" Gwen's voice chirped loudly. Within seconds, the TARDIS door was open and she was running inside. "What the hell? Why is it glowing?"

"That's the transmission," the Doctor said, pushing past her. "Energy is flooding the TARDIS with nowhere to go!"

He had set the TARDIS down right next to the water column within the Torchwood hub. When he exited the vessel, he was greeted with confused, frantic looks from Rhys and Ianto. He could see chaos occurring on the monitors behind them, and had to fight to resist the urge to go to the screen and watch Martha, so he could help. He knew she was more than capable, and he had his hands full here. He wanted to comfort her, be at her side, but he would not let go of what was right for what felt good.

He looked up high into the lofty ceilings of Torchwood. "Like a phone call from the rift, only darker and nastier," he said to himself. He stepped forward and threw the panels open, the ones that hide the rift manipulating machinery. "Beautiful!" he mused, with a big grin.

"What are we doing?" asked Jack.

"I need you to open the rift for output," said the Doctor. "A very general input as well. We don't need an egg – we've got a water tower!"

"Doctor, I've got eight kids down," Tom shouted. "But we don't have eight bone saws! Please hurry, before any more go!"

"Working on it, working on it!" the Doctor assured everyone. "Jack, you rig your toy, I'll rig mine!"

He dashed back into the TARDIS and dived under the console. He emerged with a thick cord with a giant metal plug on the end. It was round and had eighteen tines sticking out.

"I don't have the matching end to that plug," said Jack, pulling away from a large, exaggerated control panel.

"It's okay," the Doctor said. "I'm not planning on doing anything even close to logical with this plug. Is she as open as she can be?"

"I think so."

The Doctor sonicked what looked like USB port, only it was a foot tall and two feet wide. It all but melted when he finished up the process, but he pressed the TARDIS' plug to it, and the soft metal gave way. A sound bellowed through the water tower, to let them all know it was ready to receive. He ran back inside, mashed his hand against the yellow button that controls the TARDIS' defences. Once the forcefield was lowered, the energy escaped and shook the hub as the water tower seemed to explode with energy.

* * *

An OR was being hastily prepped in Tokyo and the anaesthesiologist from upstairs had just been rushed down to calibrate drugs for a three-year-old with a cerebral hemorrhage.

All at once, the foaming at the mouth stopped, the blood stopped gushing from the children's noses, their mouths reopened and their voices poured out in screams as they rejoined the transmission effort. One tiny head was still in Martha's lap, and through her scope, she could see that the bruising in the whites of the girls eyes was subsiding. She let out a laugh/cry of joy, and handed the girl off to a nurse.

She stood up and cheered. "Doctor, have you done it?"

"Ha!" he cried.

"I'll take that as a yes, yes?"

"I've relieved the pressure," he said.

"And Thames House?" she asked. "Is the alien gone?"

The Doctor and Jack looked at each other. They seemed to realise all at once that their contact in Thames House was Dekker, and he was in no shape to report.

"Dekker!" Jack yelled.

The Two of them dashed back into the TARDIS and down the hall to the infirmary. The Doctor ran some type of scan, a type that Jack had never seen before, over Dekker's lungs, and said, "The poison is mostly expelled, well done there."

"Yeah?" Jack asked anxiously.

The Doctor put his head on Dekker's chest and said, "But he's still not breathing." He checked the pulse, to find nothing. He examined the oxygen feed, and determined it was not faulty. He examined Dekker's ribs and determined that Jack had not bruised nor damaged the man in the chaos. Finally he looked sadly at Jack. "I'm sorry."

Jack exhaled hard, raggedly. "I'm sorry for _you_. He was your friend, not mine."

"It certainly looks like you did everything right, under the circumstances," the Doctor said. "He just didn't make it."

"Dekker didn't make it?" asked Martha over the line. "I'm really sorry I couldn't help you, Jack."

"Thanks, Martha. It's not your fault."

The Doctor took the sonic screwdriver from his pocket once more. He fiddled with the settings, then plugged it into a computer nearby. "I took some readings in Thames House, just before we ran out of there," the Doctor said. "Here they are. It was poisoned air, yes, the rubbish the SharKann breathe. But it was also a virus. Developed synthetically, and it targets carbon-based life forms, through the lungs. Drowns you in carbon monoxide."

"A virus that uses carbon monoxide against its host?"

"Yeah, they found a way to make it spread like a cancer once it gets into the system," the Doctor said. "He didn't stand a chance. I'm lucky to be alive myself, except my lungs don't work the way yours do. Well, the way a normal human's do."

"Well," Jack said. "Do you know his family? Should we take him home?"

"He was orphaned at six, and he never married," said the Doctor. "No-one to take him home to."

"Torchwood will take responsibility," Jack offered. "We have a facility for him. It's not fancy, but he'll rest with dignity."

"In a cold drawer?"

"Well, yeah."

The Doctor nodded. "Funny," he said, crossing his arms and leaning on a counter. "Dekker hated being human. He thought people who suffer too much from squishy humanity made inappropriate sacrifices."

"And he died because he's human," Jack said. "A virus targeted him and killed him for his humanity. And he winds up being _the only_ sacrifice."

"And Martha..." the Doctor chuckled. "She was busy saving the planet... again. And making the hard decisions _in spite of me. _Which was why she couldn't be here to save _him_. Wonder what Dekker would have thought of that."

Jack smirked. "She proved him wrong. I'm sure he wouldn't have liked it."

"Even if it was good for the planet, in the long run. She was right – if they had all cut the transmission when I said, we'd have to start all over again."

"Good going, Dr. Jones," Jack said into the comm.

"_Arigato_," she answered. "You too, Captain."

The Doctor and Jack both sighed, and spent a few moments staring at the body. "Three doctors on-hand," Jack pointed out. "Four, counting you, and still, Dekker dies in a room all alone."

"I'm sure he wasn't conscious when he died," the Doctor assured him. "He'd have no idea whether he was alone or not."

"It's never fun to die alone," Jack said. "It's even less fun to wake up alone. And I'm not making an innuendo. It really does suck."

The Doctor smiled at him briefly, then the smile faded, and his attention turned back to Dekker. "Well, at least he died trying to help, rather than shooting his mouth off," the Doctor pointed out.

"Our first casualty," said Jack. "Let's hope he's our last."

The two men looked at each other. Each of them thought it would be uncouth and insensitive to say the thing that was on their minds, so they both remained silent. The Doctor covered the body with a sheet, and they headed back to the console room.

* * *

An alarm was sounding. "Oh, now what?" the Doctor whinily asked his sentient ship. As soon as he did, the alarm stopped. He went to the display screen and looked. His eyebrows rose, and he exclaimed "Whoa."

"What?" asked Jack, coming around to join him at the screen. He saw a jumble of Gallifreyan letters and numbers, total gibberish to him. He briefly wondered about the TARDIS' translation circuit not working in the case of translating the language of the TARDIS itself. Awfully convenient...

The Doctor pointed at a thin purple squiggle on the screen. "Do you see this line? That's an Absentia Frequency." Then he looked at Jack meaningfully with a cocked eyebrow.

"I have no idea what that means."

"Purple means it's neither blue nor red – it's fading," the Doctor explained. "It's measuring a frequency that's not there."

Jack blinked. "That makes absolutely no sense."

"Ah, but it does!" the Time Lord said happily. "It's there to indicate a wavelenth that _used to be _there, but is no longer. See? I didn't notice it because it was embedded within the usual psychic debris of this planet, the normal brain activity linking one human being to the next – that stuff is going on all the time, and the TARDIS can always sort of feel it. But the TARDIS and I turned up here on Earth _after _the SharKann had got their hold on the children, so it was already in there, doing its thing. _B__limey _the SharKann are clever, 'cause they buried it deep enough for me to miss it!"

"Okay. Just keep talking, I'll catch up."

The Doctor turned the screen toward Jack. "When they initially began making the children act weird, they linked all the children of Earth psychically, to each other and to themselves," the Doctor said. "Anyone could see that. But they _left _the link online for all this time, like a two-way mic, spying and monitoring like a big speaker. And controlling. The kids have only gone back to business as usual because the Shar Kann have let them. If they wanted, they could have kept the kids in a catatonic state for three days, or made them dance non-stop, or do anything they wanted. The signal that Dekker's instruments picked up on the frequency that ended with 456 was one thing – that was meant to be discovered, they _wanted _us to know who was coming. The one that kept the kids linked together was a different story. That one was weaved in, as I said, like a thread among the tapestry of the normal psychic wavelengths of humankind! And the only reason we picked it up is..."

"... now it's gone!"

"Exactly!" the Doctor hollered emphatically.

"They've released their hold on the kids!"

"Precisely!"

Jack strode toward the TARDIS door and opened it. "Gwen, Ianto!" he shouted. "Put the news on. See if there's any breaking stories about what's going on at Thames House, say, a big flash of light leaving the premises."

They waited.

Finally, Ianto called back, "No such luck, sir. They're still spinning their wheels over the big flash of light _arriving_ on the premises."

Another blip sounded in the console room. The Doctor turned the screen back, and said, "Jack, come here."

Jack came back up the ramp and looked at the display. This time, he understood. The message on the screen said, "Cut the transmission. We will negotiate."

Jack dashed back out the door to disconnect the TARDIS from the rift.

"Martha!" the Doctor cried out. "Cut the transmission! You too, Rupesh, Tom. Put in the final equation first, then disconnect the kids. The bad guys want to make a deal!"


	28. DAY THREE:  Part XI

DAY THREE: Part XI

The audience was rapt. Tokyo, Rio, Bombay and Cardiff were tuned in, and on the edge of their seats.

The Doctor sauntered confidently out of the TARDIS with his hands in his cool, pinstriped pockets. The room at the top of Thames House was now cleared of smoke, and was fit for breathing.

"So, you wanna talk, do you? Well, big, bad, gravelly-voiced, squid thing, I'm not sure I'm in the mood anymore," he said, loudly taunting the alien.

Jack walked out behind him. The Doctor looked at him and smiled. "Aw, who am I kidding?" he exclaimed like a child. "I'm always in the mood to talk! So, tell me, Mr. SharKann, what's on your mind?"

A long pause ensued, and the deep voice said, "We are willing to negotiate."

The Doctor giggled. "Negotiate? Well, now, that's a laugh and a half! We're holding your precious crown prince hostage and threatening the foundation of the society you live in! And you've now seen that we're quite serious and capable of backfiring this nasty business right back upon you, so you're in no real position to negotiate, mate! The only thing you can do is get your sorry arse off this planet!" he told the SharKann, with glee. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you – I was assuming just then that you _have _an arse. I realise you're not humanoid, but I was thinking that you must have to sit on _something_. If I've got it wrong, I apologise."

The SharKann was silent. The Doctor grew serious.

"Leave this planet now," he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You will give us the prince."

"No dice," the Doctor said. "You get the hell out, and I return your prince to his home. At great risk to my person, might I add."

"We will leave when the prince is safe."

"And I'm telling you, the prince is safe when you leave."

"Sounds to me like an impasse," Jack said, shrugging. "Doctor, this is really going nowhere. I told you this brute wasn't going to play ball."

"Yeah, Jack, I suppose you're right. Let's just begin transmission again and go ahead and melt the egg sac," the Doctor said, keeping one eye on the giant glass cage. "Drs. Jones, Milligan and Patanjali, wire up the kids. We're going a-reverbin'!"

"No," the alien voice said forcefully.

"Do we do it?" Rupesh whispered into the comm.

"No," Martha told him. "It's a bluff. Just keep still, both of you."

Silence fell on the Bluetooth lines, and everyone waited.

"No?" the Doctor asked the SharKann. "No. Is that what you just said?"

The alien breathed, but said nothing.

"You just said _no_, I heard you," said the Doctor, beginning to pace in front of the glass case. "The clearest sign of protest in the great language of English, and that, my friend, must mean that you've got something to lose. Your crown prince gets his brain fried right here, right now, your planet stays in the dark ages indefinitely. Who knows how long before another visionary is conceived by the royal family, eh? But the Earth? Well, you've already pulled your telepathic field away from the children, because the reverb from our backfire transmission gave you a right nasty migraine, didn't it? You had no choice but to yank yourself off-line, and you disconnected yourself from your home planet in the process. Like when you pull your hand away from the hot stove, and happen to bump your elbow against the countertop because of the knee-jerk reaction. Your communication with the folks who could have nuked this planet is now nil, so right now, you're just a big squid in an aquarium. To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure why I'm talking to you. You're not a threat. You can just rot here, for all I care. Come on, Jack, let's go…"

"We possess biological weaponry, in this room. You have been witness."

"Yeah, we've been witness," the Doctor said dismissively. "And we survived. Well, not Dekker, but he will be our only sacrifice, I have decided. I can go for very long periods of time without breathing, and my friend here, he's unkillable, so you're pretty much… well, like I said, just a blob in a box."

Silence ensued once again.

"The egg. Where is it?" the gravelly voice asked.

"It's safe."

"We must see it. We must have proof."

The Doctor thought this over. Even though he knew that the SharKann was no longer an immediate threat to the planet at large, it did still possess the biological weapon that had killed Dekker, and the perception filter on this room wouldn't last forever. Eventually, the gas and the virus would seep out under the doors, and after that, it would be airborne upon London. It would take a long time, but it could happen. He wanted the SharKann off the Earth. They were nasty business and needed to get gone.

And in spite of his intense dislike of their species, the Doctor reckoned that it was not an unreasonable, when acquiescing to an enemy for the safety of a living thing, to ask for proof that the living thing is safe, so that one knows that the acquiescence is not in vain.

"Jack, will you please bring the egg sac out here?"

"Sure," answered Jack. He returned thirty seconds later, wheeling the incubator through the TARDIS doors.

"There you go," the Doctor said. "Safe as houses in his little poisoned tank, just like you."

"Very well," said the alien.

"Good, I'm glad we understand each other," said the Doctor. "You're free to go. You have my word that I will deliver the prince to his home within the hour."

"Just a minute," Jack said. "What about those kids you lot took from us in 1965?"

Silence. Then, "What of them?"

"We want them back," Jack said firmly.

"They are no longer the children whom you gave up," the alien told him. "They have changed."

"Yeah, they've grown up," Jack assumed. "Don't care. They need to come home."

"Jack," the Doctor whispered. "No."

"Impossible," said the SharKann.

"We've still got your prince," Jack said. "And we don't even need the big reverb to kill him. I can just open his incubator and leave him here, and no-one from your planet will ever be the wiser."

"Jack," the Doctor warned again. "Stop it."

"Why?" asked Jack. "It's only been forty-four years. Most of those kids would only be in their fifties now – that's still plenty of time to come home!"

"They haven't grown up," the Doctor said to him softly. "They're kept alive for hundreds of years, but they never grow up. They are still children…"

"Even better!"

"No, Jack," the Doctor said. "The SharKann… they rob them of everything. They're harvested for their adrenal glands, their serotonin, their hormones, certain enzymes, all sorts of stuff. It's marketed as a drug. The kids aren't just stripped and sold for parts, they act like living IV bags. Their juices are drained slowly over a long, long period of time."

Various hissed and whispered expletives and remarks came from those listening in the cities round the world.

"They are _alive_, with no freedoms, no capabilities, no sleep, no movement, no hope. Over time, they begin to lose their faculties as the chemicals that allow the neurons to fire in their brains are sapped, but until then, they are conscious. All the time, conscious."

"God," Martha whispered. "Is that what they want these kids for?"

"Yep," the Doctor answered. "In fact, I'd bet that our friend here has a human child in that tank with him, as we speak. Probably propped upon a metal frame with an oxygen tank so he or she doesn't die in that poison, some type of otherworldly life-support system, and hooked to that squidgy body through a bunch of tubes. Keeps you high as a kite, doesn't it?"

Jack's face had gone to disgust, his jaw set in anger.

There was silence, once again, as the two tall men stared at the as-yet unseen thing hiding in the fog of its tank.

"Doctor," Martha said softly from Tokyo. "It doesn't matter if they're not the kids they were when they left in 1965. We still have to bring them home."

The Doctor's gaze shifted from the tank back to Jack's face. The Captain's features were heavy with sorrow, and his blue eyes indicated that he was in agreement with Martha... agreement and then some. He nodded subtly. The Doctor was reminded then of the fact that Jack himself was the one who gave up those kids to the SharKann forty-four years ago, and had no doubt that guilt over the past few days had been racking him mad. Tears flooded the immortal man's eyes, and the Doctor knew what he was after.

Forgiveness. That thing that the Doctor could not give before. Now Jack wanted to earn it, not just accept it.

"All right," the Doctor conceded. "We'll bring them home."

"Thank you, Doctor," she whispered.

"Thank you," Jack agreed, choking on his words. He squeezed the Doctor's hand in thanks.

"But my friends in the MD squad, I'm going to need the three of you back in the TARDIS," he said. "Pack up your gadgets and say goodbye to your friends, doctors, and then listen for the gears, because we're coming to get you. Torchwood, we're coming to get you as well. Shut down your computer systems and stand by for departure."

"Roger that," Ianto's voice said, confidently through the comm.

"Oh, and bring gas masks for everyone," he said.

"And again, I say roger," said Ianto.

"And you," the Doctor said, pointing at the tank. "You're going home now, and you're going to alert your people, or your fellow giant squids or whatever, that we're coming, and that we _will_ be taking back what's ours. We will rendezvous in the royal palace in forty-eight hours, and they will not resist, or we will retaliate."

"And you know we're not kidding," said Jack.

A bright fire filled the tank, the light filled the room, and the SharKann's cage was left empty.

* * *

Martha did not have time to help the hospital staff re-distribute all of the heart and brainwave monitors to all the places they'd been borrowed from. She barely had time to say thank you, pack the equipment she'd brought into her rucksack, reassure the nurses and doctors that they _had _done some good, then say goodbye. She heard the TARDIS in one of the waiting rooms nearby, and she ran to follow the sound.

She found the Doctor just outside the children's ward, and they exchanged their _second_ desperate kiss in the hallway of a hospital. All was forgotten for a few moments while they held each other, and Martha almost collapsed under the weight of their last uncomfortable meeting. It had only been a couple of hours, but absence feels like lifetimes when words of love were not the last words exchanged between lovers.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"I am too," she whispered back. "I'm so glad you didn't have to kill the little egg guy because of me."

"Not your fault," he said. "Not in the slightest. I'm sorry I was so rotten to you."

"It's all right," she said, her cheek pressed to his lapel.

"No, it isn't," he said. "Dekker was wrong, and I should have known it. I did know it!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but whatever it is, it's okay."

"And I'm sorry I didn't let you tell me about Japan before."

"You did let me tell you."

"But I didn't..." he gulped. "I didn't... I didn't tell you how sorry I was."

"You did!"

"With words, yes," he said. "I could have given you more. I wanted to give you more."

"You'll make up for it later," she said.

"Yes, I will, I promise."

"And Doctor, I'm sorry I didn't let you apologise before, when you phoned."

"No, no, don't do that," he said. "You were busy, and you were angry, and you had plenty of reason to be. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"But I do."

"No."

"You said you love me..." she said.

"I did. I do."

"And I blew you off. I didn't say I loved you too," she said, finally breaking down. "But I do, I love you, very, very much."

He looked down at her and smiled. "I'll say it again later, when it doesn't feel so redundant."

She smiled back, and wiped the giant tears now rolling down her cheeks. "Okay, I'll look forward to it."

"And Martha? I know what Tom must have said to you. That thing that _made you think_."

"You do?"

"Yes." He reached into his pocket and extracted the photo of himself and Rose. He handed it to her.

She looked, then read the note on the back. Her eyebrows raised. "Oh."

* * *

The Doctor dumped Martha's rucksack on the floor of the console room and dashed round to the proper controls.

"Dr. Jones!" Jack exclaimed. "Our saviour! Again!"

"Jack!" she exclaimed back.

He walked down the ramp to meet her. He put his arms round her middle and lifted her off the floor for a hug.

"Did he apologise?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

* * *

Over the next ten minutes, the TARDIS made stops in India, Brazil and Wales and the Doctor began briefing his squad, once again.

"We're dealing with extreme hyponatremic and isonatremic dehydration, water, electrolytes and sodium, and that's just the tipping point," the Doctor reported, pacing back and forth in his TARDIS. "They'll have a deficiency of practically every essential nutrient in the book: calcium, magnesium, zinc, you name it. They'll have basically no immune system left, not to mention extreme depression from lack of serotonin and adrenaline. They'll need a standard rehydrating IV, plus, pull every supplemental packet you can find in storage – Martha will show you boys where it is. I've got the TARDIS working on a clean room, and once we have that, you'll have to find the crispest, freshest scrubs you can find, and not enter that room if you have so much as a microbe on your skin or clothes. We'll need to restrain them in order to keep them from self-harm or suicide, and we'll have to keep them under twenty-four hour surveillance. We'll take it in turns."

"Jesus," Rupesh sighed.

"Yep. A doctor's work is never done," said the Time Lord.

"I have no idea what you just said," Rhys complained, feeling panicked.

"That's all right, it's all doctorspeak. Hospital jargon. Rhys, Gwen, Ianto, Jack, you are the men - and woman - of action. You lot are here because there are twelve kids, and we'll have to work fast, because once they are detached from the SharKann's life support system, they'll start to deteriorate immediately. Within seconds."

"So we... do what?" Gwen asked.

"Martha, Tom and Rupesh will be waiting in the clean room," the Doctor explained. "Down that hall, twenty-third door on the left. Gwen, you and I, and your handsome husband, along with the esteemed Captain Harkness and his Boy Wonder, will rescue the kids. I'll show you were to go. Grab them one-by-one, and run like gangbusters down the hall and give them over to the pros."

"Okay," she said. "Are we running because of the kids' declining health, or are we running because they're going to be chasing us?"

"No-one will chase us," he said. "At least in theory. Remember, we still have their prince."

"Doctor, there's something I don't get," Jack said. "Why can't we just..."

"...go back to 1965 and rescue them right after they were taken?" the Doctor asked.

"Yeah!"

"Mm, I've been waiting for someone to bring that up. The SharKann have time-jumping technology as well, and their signals to the kids are coming across time. That would mean it's our vehicle crossing signals with their time cannon or whatever, crossing events happening in 2009 with events in 1965, counting on our friend, the blob in the box, to get his message back to the right time frame... at best, it could get hairy. At worst, it could be dangerous, both physically, in a blow-up-the-TARDIS sort of way, and in a paradoxy, timey-wimey sort of way."

"Are you sure?" asked Gwen. "It seems like it would be less complicated, and safer for the kids."

"Er, you just need to trust him," Martha said. "He can see these things, like a big map in his brain. If he says _dangerous_ and _timey-wimey _in the same sentence, it's best just to let him do his thing."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," said the Doctor.

"All right," Gwen conceded. "If you lot say so. But didn't you say forty-eight hours?"

"Yeah, we're going to cheat," said the Doctor. "Just 'cause we can't go back to 1965 doesn't mean we can't use the fact that we're in a time machine to our advantage _at all_! Now, then, doctors, man your stations. Torchwood, get ready to run. Everyone, grab onto something! Next stop is the planet of the SharKann!"


	29. DAY THREE:  Part XII

DAY THREE: Part XII

The TARDIS was, once again, parked back in the hub under Roald Dahl Plass. The environment inside was terribly sad, almost grotesque. The clean room in the great ship was filled with children who had been sick, and in a state of decay, for forty-four years. Eleven of them (the whereabouts of the twelfth was unknown), their skin pulling back from their eyes, mouths and noses, slick and white, lay staring at the ceiling, unable to close their eyes. The doctors had put them all in a drug-induced coma while their bodies replenished fluids and nutrients, and let go of the chemical toxins which made their lives unnaturally long. But until they were rehydrated, they would look like zombies in a catatonic state.

The Doctor and his legion had all worked out a schedule for watching over the children. In four-hour increments, it would go doctor, then non-doctor, then doctor, then non-doctor. The IV bags needed changing every four hours, so this way, at the beginning and end of each doctor's shift, he or she could make the rounds and refill the IV bags for the coming shift. Then the next non-doctor sentry wouldn't have to do anything other than sit and keep vigil, and cry out if anything went wrong.

The kids had been wired up nicely, and the good news was that they began responding straight away. Their vital signs were improving, their bodies began fighting off antibodies introduced in miniscule doses, and their skin began to plump again, ever so slightly. Each hour, a tiny improvement could be seen. The entire crew sat with them for the first shift. Then Tom, Rupesh, Martha and the Doctor changed all the IV bags, and Gwen volunteered to take the next shift. Jack, Ianto, Rhys, Rupesh and Tom all went for a bite, agreeing to bring back a steak pie and chips for her.

The Doctor and Martha went someplace else.

They had meant to have a talk, but it had all fallen apart once they were alone. "Let's deal with our feelings," became "Let's just feel." Light kisses became hard kisses, fingers interlaced became fingers pulling at buttons, an aimless stroll through the far reaches of the TARDIS became a beeline for the bedroom, and feet on the floor became a thing of the past. At least for a couple of hours.

"We can't just throw our clothes off every time there's anything difficult to discuss. Please tell me we'll talk soon," Martha said breathlessly as the Doctor sucked and nipped at the skin of her neck voraciously, tossing her shirt aside. "Promise me."

"Absolutely," he muttered. "I promise."

"We have a lot to deal with, Doctor," she told him. She shivered as his fingers climbed round her bra strap in back.

"I know," he assured her, unhooking. "But I can't… not now. Can't think straight."

"Me neither," she moaned, shimmying out of her bra and tossing it aside. It landed on a pile with his shirt and jacket, shoes he'd wrangled himself out of, and her striped tank top.

He moved them toward the bed. He sat down and unsnapped and unzipped her jeans. He pushed them down her legs and she stepped out of them.

"I'm glad you understand," he whispered to her, kissing her stomach twice, lightly.

She gasped. "Understand what?" she asked dreamily, almost swooning.

"I can't remember."

Then he threw one arm around her waist and pulled her down onto the bed on her back, crawling on top of her. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, and she reached down to unclasp his dapper pinstriped trousers. She pushed down on them, and when he was free, all talking totally dissipated, abandoned for a different form of communication. Their bodies affirmed first with actions what their lips would have to wait to say with language.

* * *

Martha had agreed to take the second shift watching the children. She only had a half an hour until she needed to relieve Gwen, and she and the Doctor still hadn't eaten yet. Not since the midnight bagel and coffee confab in the conference room, anyway.

Martha found some peanut butter and jelly, potato crisps and some fruit. The Doctor dug into a casserole he'd received as a thank-you gift from the inhabitants of the Poloximy Asteroid. It was purple and grey, and had something on top as garnish that honestly looked like grubs to Martha. Thankfully, the Doctor picked them off before plunging his fork in.

"I think," he said, chewing. "If there are no objections from the staff, I'll take the egg sac back to its home while you're on kid-watch. Who's on after you?"

"Ianto, I believe," she said.

"Okay. You haven't slept yet - are you all right to do sentry duty for four hours?"

"Yes. But then I really will need some serious sleep. And don't think I've forgotten about this," she said, pulling the photo from her pocket. She laid it out on the kitchen table between them. They both stared at it and sighed.

"I know you haven't forgotten," he told her.

"I mean, I'm not angry or anything. It's not like this is anything new," she assured him, gesturing to the pretty blonde in the picture. "It's just… bloody Tom…"

"I know, I know. Made you think."

"Yep. I hate to have to think."

"Right, so I've heard," the Doctor chuckled, rolling his eyes.

"And I know it's a thing just for you and me, it's none of his business, and I shouldn't even listen to him, but now that it's on my mind, there are some things I have to know. I mean, before we can think about building a relationship."

"Er, have we not been thinking about it up 'til now?" he asked, through a mouthful of casserole.

"We have," she said.

"Thinking _and _acting?"

"Yes, but, at least for me, it's been so much about how flippin' happy I am, and how great it's going to be, and when is the next time I can strip my clothes off and have you all to myself. We haven't dealt with the hard part."

"Martha, we've been dealing with the hard part for twenty-four hours," he told her, swallowing, and laying down his fork. "I'm not saying that Rose is a non-issue, but… your ex has been knocking about in our lives for a whole day. The fact that he's messing with your head is _the hard part_. Bringing up other hard parts, the little bastard. Plus, there was this thing with Dekker, and this big, epic conversation I had with Jack…"

"Yeah, you're right. That's all part of the great carousel of baggage that is our relationship."

"So, we'll be fine. We'll talk about it, and we'll be fine. As long as you understand that much as I want to be with you, Rose is going to be the elephant in the room for a while."

"She always has been," Martha shrugged. "Except, oddly, when she was actually here. Then, I didn't have a problem."

The Doctor smiled. "Lucky you. I hide it well, but having Tom here has been a right pain in the arse for me."

"That's because he's a pain in the arse," she said. "Rose is a normal person."

He smirked. "Well, more or less. She has her pain-in-the-arse moments too. And Tom, he's not a bad bloke. He's a good doctor, and genuinely _wants _to do the right thing, I think. He's just a bit on the immature side, and it doesn't help that he's so clearly still smitten with you. I don't deal well with jealousy."

"You've been dealing fine," she said, stroking his arm, briefly.

"Like I said, I hide it well."

"Well, maybe we could introduce him to someone," she suggested, only half joking. "Maybe Rupesh has a sister who's single."

He smiled. "Listen to you."

"What?"

"He's been sort of awful to you, and you still want him taken care of," the Doctor said.

"Out of my hair, is more like it," she said, scoffing.

"Nah," he scoffed back. "I know you too well. It's not just a _leave me alone_ thing. It's an _I want you to be happy _thing. It's brilliant. It's what separates you from… well, ordinary folk."

"I guess it's sort of my job," she shrugged. "You know – fix people."

"And you do it well."

They smiled warmly at each other for a few moments, then she averted her eyes to take a bite. She caught his gaze wandering down to the photo. He sighed.

She pursed her lips. It was a can of worms she didn't want to open just now, but these were the moments that used to annihilate her, when she travelled with the Doctor and longed for him in secret. Those days were over, so it was time for her to start learning what to say when these times came. She went for the sympathetic approach.

"You still miss her," she said gently.

He looked up at her. His initial response was to deny it, but he knew he couldn't fool her. "Sometimes," he said. "Is that so wrong?"

She shook her head.

* * *

They tidied up their dishes and walked down the hall for Martha's shift. Martha opened the cupboard beside the clean room door and began pulling on sterilised scrubs and tucking her hair into a cap. The Doctor rapped on the door to let Gwen know they were there.

But when the door opened, it was Tom whose eyes they saw between the scrub cap and the mask.

"Hi, you two," he said, pulling his mask off and stepping out.

"Oh, hi," said the Doctor, surprised. "Where's Gwen."

"Ugh," Tom groaned, shutting the door. "She couldn't handle it. We didn't even get six feet out the TARDIS door before she was calling Rhys, in tears. She begged him to come back and sit with her."

"What?" Martha asked, rolling up her cuffs. "That doesn't sound like Gwen at all. She's tough as nails."

Tom shrugged. "The old Gwen, maybe. The current Gwen is hormonal and thinking about being a mum. She can't be around kids who are suffering just now, not on her own. Just as well – she doesn't need the stress."

"So where is she now?" asked Martha.

"I assume she went out to eat with the rest of them. I volunteered to stay 'cause I thought she'd want to be with her boys – Jack and Ianto and Rhys. And Rupesh looked knackered," he said. His forehead furrowed. "Bollocks, I forgot to ask them to bring me back a burger or something."

"It's all right, we've got a good kitchen on-board," the Doctor said. "You ready to go in, Martha?"

"Yeah," she said. "Have the IV's been changed?"

Tom nodded. "I decided to go ahead and do it a bit early. Ianto's coming in at one a.m. Just change them before then, and you'll be ready to run away when he gets here."

"Okay," she said, pulling a surgical mask down over her mouth. "I'm going in."

"See you in four hours," the Doctor said, waving as she shut the door. To Tom he said, "Right this way, sir."

"Thanks. I appreciate it. Haven't eaten since the stale bagels. Feels like a year ago."

The Doctor agreed that much had happened since then, and it felt like forever, even to him.

Tom pulled his cap off, and the scrub tops over his head as he followed the Doctor through the labyrinthine ship. They entered the kitchen where the Doctor and Martha had just sat, talking about this very man. This basically good man with a few annoying shortcomings. This paediatrician with the, ironically, occasionally juvenile problem-solving instinct that tended to rear its head when Tom was cornered.

The Doctor threw on the lights, and said, "Help yourself to whatever you like. There's stuff in the fridge for sandwiches, crisps in the cupboards, et cetera, et cetera. You might want to check expiry dates before you dive in, though, just in case. Especially with the yoghurt. And the creamed spinach. Actually, come to think of it, you should probably stay clear of the spinach altogether. Don't need another patient to worry about."

"All right," Tom said, tentatively opening the fridge.

"I'm going to go check on the egg sac so we can take it home in a bit," the Doctor told him. "I'll be right back."

"You don't need to entertain me," Tom said, opening a jar of mayonnaise. "Just go about your business, I'll be fine on my own."

"You're my guest, Tom," the Doctor said, trying not to sound as though he had something up his sleeve. "I'd never do that to you. I won't be a minute."


	30. DAY FOUR:  Part I

_**PLEASE READ BEFORE REVIEWING!**_

**Some of you might be disappointed with how the _Tom Milligan_ part of the story wraps up, but I did it this way for a few reasons. **

**It's been very tempting for Ten/Martha fans to demonize Tom because in our minds, he's 'come between' our favorite pair. But people are not clearly divided between good guys and bad guys. Yes, Tom has issues with jealousy, which led him to cheat on Martha and mess with her mind a little, but that doesn't make him an all-round bad person. We've seen evidence that he wants to help, and that he's a good and compassionate doctor. Plus, I don't feel that Martha would get involved with a guy who's just a complete ass. I think she's a better judge of character than that.**

**And then, there's Tom and the Doctor. We've seen Tom slowly become aware of the "magic" of the Doctor, and start to understand Martha's world, Martha's feelings, and why everyone wants to please the Doctor. Plus, the Doctor is certainly a guy who can see the big picture. Screaming and yelling at Tom and threatening him would be, at best, a small-minded, short-term solution that only suits _him_. The mini-speeches he gives Tom here, I feel, are much more big-picture related, and much more effectively portray how the Doctor actually might react to Tom's situation. The Tenth Doctor is a scary guy sometimes, but he loves his people and he understands human frailties. And anyway, I think this is more interesting than a big fight anyhow.**

**Also, this says "day four," but Day Four (Thursday) doesn't actually begin until halfway through.**

**And one more thing: I'm not sure if the Brits use the word "bonehead," but the Yanks do, and it's VERY apt for this situation! So, if it bothers you, just... suspend reality for a bit!**

**Okay then. The story is wrapping up in the next few chapters... thanks for the great reviews, glad you've been enjoying!**

* * *

DAY FOUR: Part I

The Doctor disappeared for a bit while Tom constructed an impressive turkey and cheese sandwich. He was back before Tom was ready, and sat down at the table.

When Tom joined him, the photo of the Doctor and Rose, still lying on the able caught his eye. A rush of heat slid up his spine and infused his face with pink. He tried to play it off.

"Hey, look at that," Tom said, smiling uneasily. "That's a nice photo. Who's she? A friend of yours? She's pretty. Not _my _type, but still pretty."

The Doctor smiled at Tom's nervous, rapidfire attempt at small talk. "Oh, Tom," he said. "We're much too old to play these games." He leaned back in his chair, and crossed his ankle over his knee. "At least I am. 'Course, I've been too old now for a good seven hundred years, so I may have lost a bit of perspective."

Tom took an uncomfortably large bite of his sandwich. "Games?" he asked. With his mouth full, though, it sounded more like, "Gersh?"

"Yes, games. You know very well who the woman in the photo is. I'm sure that Martha's told you stories."

Tom swallowed, and seemed to be thinking of something to say. Where Martha had decided to tread lightly earlier, Tom decided to take the opposite tack. But he was clumsy about it, and it didn't last.

"Yeah," he said, copping a bit of an attitude. "She told me stories. She told me about how you pined and moaned over that girl for over a year, while making Martha feel like chewed meat."

The Doctor nodded. "Well, you are forthright, aren't you?" he asked. He took a deep breath and said, "Well, you're right. What you said, it's absolutely true. I did pine for Rose for a long time, and didn't notice for a while that there was a perfectly lovely, talented girl, right under my nose, who would have liked to have all of my attention."

"Would have given her right bloody eye," Tom told him with bitterness.

"Yes, and I hurt her. I know I did."

"Yeah, you did. And she cried on my shoulder about it loads of times," Tom said, his mouth full again.

"Which then made _you_ feel like chewed meat."

Tom nodded, though did not say anything.

"You must hate me," said the Doctor.

Tom thought about it, then shook his head. "No. I don't hate you."

"Nah, I could have told you that. Because you're a very decent bloke."

"It's because _you're _a decent bloke," said Tom. "I reckon we all owe you a million times over for saving our hides."

"Yes, well, that's neither here nor there. It's really not the point. A lesser man would hate me anyway, Tom."

Tom was confused. He swallowed. "A lesser man?"

"Yeah," the Doctor said. "In spite of my baser instincts, Tom, at some point, Martha Jones thought you were a great guy. And talking to her over the past few days, she still doesn't think you're a lost cause, in spite of the evidence, in spite of how much she really _should _hate your guts. I've got to give you the benefit of the doubt, and take into account that she's not just compassionate, but also sharp as a tack."

"S'pose."

"Martha doesn't hate Rose, and you don't hate me, and it all works out because we are all adults, we are rational, we can see the good in each other."

"S'pose," Tom repeated.

The Doctor crossed his arms and regarded the man and his sandwich. "Tom, I'd really like to scold you. I'd love to give you a good solid toungue-lashing, if I'm honest, but I won't, because I think I understand you."

"What in God's name are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on, I thought we said we weren't going to play games. Don't make me point out the irony of you being pissed off because I made Martha feel second best. We both know I'm not the only one who looked to another girl for that. At least I was unaware, and not three weeks from marrying her."

"Listen…"

"And, at least Rose was someone who meant something to me, not just a leggy chippie in a hotel."

"Now, you just wait..."

"But in your defence," the Doctor continued, ploughing through Tom's own self-defence tactic. "Martha had given you an excuse to do what you did. Not a good reason, just a fairly solid lame excuse. And we'll just say you cracked under the pressure, yeah? But, it's none of my business anyway, so, let's just move on."

"Let's."

"The reason I so cleverly lured you into my kitchen, Tom, was to ask you a question."

"Okay. Bit scared now."

"Don't be. It's just a question."

Tom nodded subtly.

"Are you going to be a problem?"

"What?" asked Tom, mouth full again.

"Are you going to be a problem?" the Doctor repeated. "Do I need to worry about you in our lives? Are you going to be constantly fucking around with our relationship and passive-aggressively trying to come between us by putting insidious little bug bombs into Martha's brain? Because if the answer is yes, then I need to know. There might be nothing I can do to stop you, but at least I can prepare myself."

"Passive agg… coming betw… I don't understand what you're on about!"

The Doctor rolled his eyes and pushed the picture at Tom. "Stop playing dumb, please. It's insulting. I don't know what exactly you said, but I know you've seen this photo, and I know you've been meddling with her mind today. I need to know if this is going to be a habit. I like you well enough, but I also know that even decent men do bonehead things. Just tell the truth."

Tom's mouth was half-open in disbelief. "I'm not a bonehead," he muttered, eating some of his sandwich and pouting.

"Well, see, that's just the thing," the Doctor said. "You're a rational human being with a pretty good mind, but you _are _a bonehead where Martha's concerned. So are you going to continue down that road, or are you going to take the high one?"

Tom blinked twice. It sounded like the Doctor was trying to help him, but he wasn't sure.

"What are you saying, Doctor?"

"I'm saying… I'm a good, clever guy, and you're a good, clever guy. There's this fantastic woman whom we both love. But for some reason, when you deal with her, you are a lesser man. You turn into an amoral idiot. You cheat, you lie, you don't think things through."

Tom sighed. The Doctor was right.

He continued. "We've both screwed up with this woman, royally. However, I like to think, though perhaps I'm just kidding myself, that I've handled myself better than you have, if only marginally. And in her infinite mercy, she's decided to give me a second chance, and not you. Maybe she's wrong to do that, but it's not for me to say. All I know is that I've been given the chance to show her that I'm not a bonehead anymore, and I'm not going to throw that chance away."

"Fair enough," muttered Tom, grudgingly.

"You have been given that same chance, Tom," the Doctor said. "It's time to make a choice about who you're going to be."

Tom's shoulders slumped and he put his hands at his sides. He didn't say anything for a few long moments, then he leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "I just… I'm sorry, Doctor, but I love her. I act that way because I love her so much that it makes me stupid."

"I understand that," said the Doctor. "But you're not a stupid man. It's time to get smart."

Tom sat like that for a long time, hiding his eyes. The Doctor suspected he was concealing a few tears, and was afraid to speak or move his hands.

"Getting smart means letting go," Tom said, finally, though not moving. "No more Martha… ever."

The Doctor didn't say anything. He just let Tom work through it.

"Then what?" Tom asked, pulling his hands suddenly away from his face. His eyes were red. "What will I do? Be alone for the rest of my life? Any woman worth having is going to turn me into a lunatic."

"Not if you choose to learn from this," said the Doctor, vowing to take his own advice as soon as he got the chance.

"Learn what? That love is bloody rubbish?"

"No, that it's wonderful enough to work for."

"I don't understand what that means."

"I know," said the Doctor. "That's what got us into this mess. But I can't help you with that, Tom."

"I thought Martha could."

"Sorry. She's got her hands full with me," said the Doctor.

"Is this your clever, being-the-bigger-man way of telling me to butt out of your lives?"

"Yes," admitted the Doctor, smirking. "I want to spend time with my girlfriend in peace, and I can't fully do that as long as I'm not sure where you stand."

"Perfect."

"But I also think that you can be a better person. And to do that, you have to move on."

"I told Martha that you make me want to be a better man," said Tom. "And it's so frustrating!"

The Doctor smiled. "Okay, then hate me for that."

* * *

When the Torchwood folks, and Rupesh, returned, they had all eaten, had a shower, changed clothes and relaxed a bit. Gwen had calmed, and everyone was smiling a relieved smile. They visited Martha in the clean room, and she reported that the children were taking a turn for the better, visible just in the hour she'd been on duty.

At the Doctor's request, Tom and Rupesh ceremoniously removed Edwin Dekker's body from the TARDIS while Jack and Ianto prepared the cold storage unit. The Doctor said a few words, remembering Dekker's good deeds back in the old days, as well as in the fight with the SharKann, glossing over the poorer decisions he had made. Then, everyone except Martha stood around and watched reverently as Jack pushed Dekker's body into its resting place, and labelled the door with his name.

After that, Jack ran an errand and came back with the Doctor's brown trench coat, all fresh and cleaned, with no holes and no blood.

Then, everyone boarded the TARDIS once again, and held on for departure as they went back in time and across the universe to the planet of the SharKann. Officials on the planet were frantic, and the Doctor delivered the little egg sac to them, still housed in its incubator. They demanded he remain for questioning, but… well, that didn't go as they would have liked.

Next stop was the planet Traeuneum Song, where they checked their families out of the resort and brought them back aboard the TARDIS. Jack explained to everyone that the threat to the Earth, and its children, had passed, though passed over the fact that they had just spent two days on a different planet. Then, with a crew of twenty-eight knocking about, the Doctor began the process of bringing everyone home.

First, they brought little Leandra, their original four-year-old guinea pig, and her mother Julie home to the suburbs round Cardiff. Then, Ianto's sister Rhiannon, with her husband and kids, disembarked for the safety of home. After that, Rhys' parents went, then Gwen's. By then, it was one in the morning, and time for Ianto to take the watch in the clean room with the children, so he and Martha switched places, and she joined the group in the console room.

In London, Rupesh said goodbye to his parents, and stayed to help take care of the children. Then Jack left the TARDIS with Alice and Steven, promising to be back in ten minutes. Gwen and Rhys went to try and find an early edition of the _Times_, and, uncomfortable, Rupesh went to check on Ianto. The Jones family was left in the console room with Martha, Tom and the Doctor. None of them had properly greeted each other until then.

There was an uncomfortable silence, and then, Martha's mum took the initiative. "Hello, Tom. Nice to see you."

"And you, Francine," he replied, though he was not fooled by her cordial tone.

"How have you been, then?"

"I've been in hell," said Tom.

Francine's lips went flat and she crossed her arms, looking at him with disdain. She was winding up to say something nasty…

"Mum, leave it," Martha said.

"I never had my day in court with this one," Francine protested. "Don't tell me to leave it! What's he even doing here?"

"Sweetheart, no good will come of this," Clive warned. "Let's just…" He took her by the shoulders and they walked to the other side of the console. The Doctor cleared his coat off the stool, and offered it to Francine. She narrowed her eyes and continued to concentrate her fury upon Tom, while the Doctor and Clive began a chat.

Martha stood with Tom, and the remainders of her family: Tish, Leo, his girlfriend and daughter. Tom looked at all of them, receiving clear signs of hostility from everyone other than Martha.

"You know what?" he said to Martha. "You lot don't need me. Those kids have got you, Rupesh and the Doctor, and they're doing better and better all the time – I'm just in the way now."

Martha thought of a few reasons to protest, but Tom was right. Three doctors was probably plenty, and the sooner he was out of her sight, the better.

Tom continued, "I'm just going to… you know. My flat's only... well, I can take the Tube. I think it's still running at this hour."

"I think that's best," Martha said. "I'll walk you out."

"Bye Tish, Leo, everyone. Sorry it had to be on these terms."

"Yep. Don't let the door hit you in the…" Leo began.

"Stop it," Tish whispered, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Goodbye, Doctor," Tom called out. "Thanks. You know… for… yeah. Bye."

The Doctor gave him a small smile and a little salute, and then Tom and Martha were out the door. The Charing Cross station was just across the street, and Tom fixed his eyes upon it. It was just before two in the morning on Thursday, and the Tube wouldn't be open much longer.

"Right," Martha said. "So, I guess this is goodbye, yeah?"

"You mean, you _hope_ this is goodbye."

"Tom…"

"No, listen, Martha. Whatever you're going to say, just save it. Let's not end this on a big dramatic note. I'm sorry for what I did to you, both with Brenda…"

"Brenda?"

"The redhead."

"Oh."

"And for earlier today when I…"

"Tried to mess with my mind and sabotage my new relationship?"

"Yes, that. I'm sorry. Really. But I'm not going to grovel."

"Thank heaven for that."

"And unless you take the initiative, this is the last time you'll see me or hear from me."

"All right," she said. "I guess I'm glad to hear that."

"I have to move on."

"Yes, you do. I need you to, as well. But Tom, don't move on, really, until you're ready. Do you know what I'm saying?"

"I think I do," he said.

"I don't want you to hurt anyone. I know you don't want to hurt anyone either."

He nodded. "It will take me a long time to be ready, but I'll wait."

She wasn't sure what to say to that. But she asked, "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, just…" he sighed. "It has come to my attention that for some reason, when I think of you or try to interact with you, I go a little insane and do monumentally stupid things that are really beneath me. It's love, pure and simple. I love you to the point of madness. But it's made me realise that you're not the one for me."

Her eyebrows rose. "Wow."

"Yeah, I know. Wow. And," he said, thinking, slowing down, choosing his words carefully. "I'm supposed to learn how to love someone truly, but without letting it turn me into a maniac. I'm supposed to learn from you. From us. And I'm not sure how to do it yet."

"Supposed to?" she asked. "What, did you take a class?"

He laughed. "Sort of."

She took his hand, then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Well, I hope you do find the one for you. Someone who loves you, and you love, and who doesn't turn you into a maniac."

"I hope so too," he said. He was silent for a minute, then gestured toward the TARDIS. "Like what you have."

"Right. He was a maniac when I met him."

Tom smiled. "I can see that. Fine line between mania and genius, I say."

* * *

With Jack, Gwen and Rhys back inside, they hopped across town to say goodbye to the Joneses. A measure of eye contact was made between Clive and the Doctor as they shook hands and smiled, almost a conspiratorial exchange. Francine, however, seemed on-edge still.

Tish, Leo and his family left first.

Then, once outside the TARDIS with only her parents, Martha said, "Sorry for all the chaos. Just wanted you safe."

Francine kissed her, then said, very seriously, "Honey, be very, very careful, do you hear me?"

"She hears you, Francine," said Clive, rolling his eyes.

Francine ignored him. "Please reconsider, Martha. Please?"

"Reconsider what?" Martha wanted to know.

"Never mind, sweetie," Clive said. He took Martha's head in his hands and said, "Don't listen to your mother." He kissed her forehead.

"Clive, how can you be so blasé?"

"Oh, good God, woman, would you let your daughter be happy?" he asked, letting go of Martha.

"It's so soon, though!"

"It's not like she's just met the man in a bar!" Clive protested.

"No, she met him on the moon! Even worse!"

"He was saving the planet! What more do you want for her?"

"I'd like someone who doesn't cheat on her, and who doesn't try to get her killed on a weekly basis."

"He doesn't _try_ to get her killed," Clive sighed. "Blimey, you're so difficult!"

"Difficult? This is our daughter's life we're talking about!"

"Oh, get in the house. I'll make you some tea."

"Don't condescend to me, Clive Jones," Francine warned. "I'm not above putting you back on the sofa."

They walked away from her after that, and Martha watched the two of them go, her head moving left to right as though watching a tennis match. She chuckled to herself and walked back into the TARDIS.

By the time she got inside, Rupesh had come back to the console room.

"So, are you one of us now?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "Don't know," he said. "That's up to the boss."

Jack stared at him, though it was impossible to read his expression.

"Oh, come on, Jack," Martha said. "He's proved himself. And he's a very, very good medic. And he's cute. You need someone like that."

Rupesh chuckled.

"He tried to kill me," Jack said, still rather deadpan.

"Meh," said the Doctor. "I travelled for a year with a young man who'd tried to off me as well. Didn't stop us becoming good friends later on."

A smile spread slowly across Jack's face.

"Oh, you little…" said Gwen. "He's been planning on keeping Rupesh all along!"

"All right, fair cop," Jack admitted. He shook Rupesh's hand. "Welcome aboard. But I've got my eye on you, yeah?"

"Of course," said the young medic. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Martha sighed with relief at seeing the team together; them, and Torchwood. No baggage, no children, no interruptions. Just Rupesh, Rhys and Gwen, Ianto, Jack and of course, her favourite man in the universe, standing at the controls, smiling at her.


	31. DAY FOUR:  Part II

DAY FOUR: Part II

Everyone went their separate ways for a while. Gwen and Rhys went home, the Doctor and Martha went to sleep, and at five o'clock, Rupesh took over watching the kids while Ianto and Jack went God Knows Where, though everyone could guess Why.

At nine a.m. it was Jack's turn with the kids, at one, it was the Doctor's turn. He and Martha climbed out of bed just before noon, and again, wandered into the kitchen for a bite. This time, they took their macaroni out to the hub, and joined Ianto and Rupesh in the conference room where they were watching the television.

"Who is this guy?" asked Martha, indicating the frazzled-looking, grey-haired man on the screen.

"That's John Frobisher," Rupesh whispered, not looking at her. "Secretary to the Home Office."

"We are not at liberty to discuss the circumstances surrounding the alien visit," he was saying.

"But Mr. Frobisher! Don't you think the people deserve to know? Are the children safe? Is the Earth in danger?" the reporters were shouting.

"One at a time, please!" he shouted.

"Mr. Frobisher," a male voice said, off-camera. "When a great flash of light came out of the sky at approximately fourteen hundred hours yesterday, and seemed to land on Thames House, was that the alien presence arriving in London? In your very office, as it were?"

Sweat poured down Frobisher's face. "Y-yes, it was," said Frobisher.

"I wonder if he even remembers it happening," Martha said.

"He remembers," the Doctor said. "The perception filter will have dissipated by now. He remembers – he's just really, really confused."

"And approximately ninety minutes later," the male voice was saying, off-camera. "It seemed to leave."

"As I have said at least seven or eight times," Mr. Frobisher said, weary. "I cannot discuss that."

"So are the aliens still here, in London?" asked a female reporter.

"There is no immediate danger," said Frobisher.

"Why can't he just say _no _the aliens are not still in London?" Rupesh asked.

"Because they're _all_ confused," said the Doctor. "They know the aliens must have come, but they know _they_ didn't make them go away, so they're wondering, are they still here, are they hiding, are they training a doomsday weapon on the Earth. They just don't know."

"Shouldn't we help them out?" asked Martha.

"Maybe," the Doctor shrugged. "But it won't be the first time they've covered something up with a bit of spin, and evasion of the truth. The public are used to it by now."

"Who was there to greet the visitors?" asked another male reporter.

"Er, it was one of our tech support team, Edwin Dekker," Frobisher said. "He was the first person to identify the alien threat. He was in the room with them."

"Where is Mr. Dekker now?"

"He is," Frobisher said, wiping his forehead. "In seclusion. He is not at liberty…"

This caused an uproar in the room. "Was he harmed? What did he say to them? Is he the one who made them leave? Can we contact him? Do you know where he is?" they all asked at once.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Dekker's state, and his whereabouts, are also off-limits for discussion."

They all spoke again, and through the din, Frobisher said, "Thank you all for coming, I'm afraid this interview is over."

The report cut to an anchorwoman at a desk. "Earlier today, other Home Office officials reported that several people have been dismissed from their positions in government, due to what has been called _failure to respond or carry out duties in a critical situation_. Among them was Agent Pamela Johnson, a special operative, and several of her charges."

Some training footage of Johnson and her cronies came up on the screen. The boys were shooting at a moving, mechanical target, and she was shouting at them.

"It is not known in what way Agent Johnson failed in her duties."

Ianto shut off the television, and the four of them looked at each other.

"Well, good riddance of her," Rupesh said. "Blimey, what a mess. Is this why politicians are always so evasive in the media? 'Cause they have no bloody idea what's happening?"

"A lot of the time, yeah," said the Doctor. "A few of them know what's up. Most of them are clueless."

"Wow," Rupesh mused. "I've so much to learn."

The Doctor was regarding Martha. "What's with you? You look like you've just swallowed a canary."

"I've got a good idea," she said. She took her mobile phone from her pocket and dialled.

"What are you doing?" asked Ianto.

"Hello, this is Dr. Jones, I'd like to speak with Colonel Mace, please. Yes, Dr. Jones, the Chief Medical Officer. Well, clearly, I'm back from my holiday and I'd like to speak with Colonel Mace. Thank you."

"You're getting UNIT involved?" Ianto mocked. "Traitor."

Martha stuck out her tongue at him, then said, "Hello, Colonel. I'm fine, thanks. No, I'm not on my honeymoon – it's a long story. But I have an even longer one to tell you, and then I need your help. Have you been watching John Frobisher squirm on the news? Yeah, it's 'cause he has no idea what's happened, and I'm about to tell you why."

* * *

At one o'clock, Martha kissed a very small portion of the Doctor's cheek still visible for being covered by a scrub cap and surgical mask.

"Well, good luck. You know where I'll be," he said.

"Thanks. See you in a bit."

She watched him disappear into the clean room, then Martha made her way out to the console room where Jack, Ianto, Gwen and Rupesh were waiting. Rhys had gone back to work, like everyone else on Earth.

"Got your badge?" asked Jack.

Martha pulled her UNIT security tag from her pocket and showed it to him. "Yep."

"Got the other thing?" he asked.

She took an envelope from the console, and showed him that as well, then stuck it in her back pocket. "Yes. Let's go."

They all exited the TARDIS in a grey corridor.

"Where are we?" asked Rupesh.

"You know that pedestrian tunnel that tourists use to cross the street to the Tower of London?" she asked him. She pointed to her right. "It's through that door."

"Oh. Interesting."

Then she pointed to her left. "The employee entrance to the UNIT base is through that door. Come on."

Martha swiped her security card, and ushered the Torchwood team through. Colonel Mace was waiting for them.

"Dr. Jones," he said, crisply as he said everything. "Lovely to see you."

They shook hands. "Colonel Mace, this is Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood, and his associates, Gwen Cooper, security, Ianto Jones, communications, and Rupesh Patanjali, medical."

"And you all were involved in this?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," said Jack.

"Well, I must commend your actions," Mace conceded grudgingly shaking Jack's hand. "The strained relationship between Torchwood and UNIT notwithstanding, it seems you have acted well."

"Well, we had help," Jack said, winking.

"Speaking of which, where is the Doctor?" Mace asked. "I'd like to shake his hand too."

"He's inside, with the kids," Martha said. "You'll see him in a minute. Have you cleared the space?"

"Of course."

* * *

Martha and Rupesh inspected the UNIT medical facility, made sure that the proper equipment had been installed and was ready to go.

"Dr. Jones, I wanted to tell you how honoured I am that you chose me to head this operation," said a male medic, whose badge said Dr. Walter Swift.

"Well, Walt, you're the best we've got," she said, smiling.

"Thanks, ma'am," he said, blushing. "But I'd argue second-best, long as you're about."

Jack rolled his eyes. Martha just looked at Dr. Swift uncomfortably.

"I trust everything is to your liking?" Swift asked her.

"Yes, you've done a nice job here, thanks," she said.

"What is priority one?" he wanted to know.

"Toxin expulsion and rehydration," she answered. "Their breathing is coming back, their essential minerals are replenishing nicely. It's the artificial life support drugs in their systems causing the biggest problem. They are a lot more pervasive than we thought. So it is necessary to continue the effort toward combating dehydration. More water means faster expulsion. Just keep them feeding, watch their skin and vitals. In a few days, take them out of the coma and talk to them, see if they talk back. It'll be a while, but I reckon when that happens, they'll be ready to go."

Colonel Mace entered the medical facility with another officer in tow. "Dr. Jones, I'd like you to meet Sergeant Michael Pearce. He will be in charge of PR."

"Oh, the damage control guy," Martha said, smiling. "Thanks for your help, Sergeant Pearce. You've got your story straight?"

"Yes. UNIT will be taking full responsibility for negotiating with the alien, and under the Official Secrets Act, we will not even be able to disclose the details to the Home Office. Frobisher will at least have something to put in his report, and to tell the press, and everyone can go back to their lives."

"Lovely," Martha said. "And the children?"

"As soon as Dr. Swift tells us they're recovered, we'll be sending them to foster homes, and looking into adoption opportunities," the Colonel said. "You said they were orphans to begin with. We'll just let them pick up where they left off."

"What will we tell them?" asked Dr. Swift. "They'll want to know what happened to them."

"They'll remember," Martha said sadly. "They know exactly what's happened. What's important is that you let them know that they can't tell anyone else. Give them new birthdates, new names, new everything, and make sure they understand the severity of their secrets."

Swift nodded, daunted, knowing he had a rough road ahead.

"Don't worry," Pearce said. "I'm in charge of helping them re-assimilate. We'll see that they are always able to have access to one another for support, and to UNIT."

"What about Torchwood?" asked Martha.

"Best not," said Jack. "The less they see of me, the better. I'm comfortable letting UNIT take over."

"Are we ready to bring in the children?" asked Mace.

Martha nodded. The entire team, Martha, Mace, Swift, Pearce, Jack, Gwen, Ianto and Rupesh went back down the hall and entered the TARDIS, with an officer waiting at the security door. One-by-one, the eight of them and the Doctor removed the kids from the TARDIS' machines, and wheeled them down the hall. Some UNIT nurses were waiting for them inside.

Once the children were installed, Martha gave some last minute instructions to Dr. Swift, then made her goodbyes.

"Just one question," he asked her. "Why are you leaving me to run this, instead of overseeing it yourself?"

She smiled, a little regretful. "I'm glad you asked." She slowly crossed the room and stopped in front of Colonel Mace. She took the envelope from her back pocket and handed it to him. "Colonel Mace, it's been a pleasure being a part of your team. I have thoroughly enjoyed my time with UNIT, but I am tendering my resignation."

"What?" he asked. He looked at the Doctor for help. The Doctor, of course, said nothing, except to remove his surgical mask and shove it in the pocket of his scrubs, and sigh.

"I'm needed elsewhere," Martha told the Colonel.

"Doctor, what is she saying?" asked Mace.

Martha took a few steps to her left, and took the Doctor's hand. She didn't say anything, but Mace understood.

"This is preposterous," he said. "Dr. Jones… Martha, we need you here. Doctor, you recommended her for this job!"

"I know," the Doctor replied. "But things have changed for us. You need a good Chief Medical Officer, and I need Martha Jones. Good doctors are everywhere, but there's only one of her. Sorry."

"What about your honeymoon?" asked Dr. Swift. "I thought you were getting married to someone else."

"Well, like the Doctor said, things have changed," Martha answered.

"I can't believe this!" Mace said, as angrily as he was capable.

"You'll come round," Martha said, and shocked the hell out of the Colonel by giving him a hug.

Martha and the Doctor and the Torchwood team said their goodbyes to Swift, Pearce and a huffy Colonel Mace. Walking down the hall back to the TARDIS, the Doctor said, "Indeed things have changed."

"Yes, they have," she said, squeezing his hand, laying her head against his arm.

He lowered his voice. "But I don't see any reason why you should be cheated out of a honeymoon. Of sorts."

She smiled. "Me neither. First, though…"

"Yeah, I know."


	32. DAY FOUR:  Part III Epilogue

**Well, this is the end, my friends. The final chapter! Five drafts, and the "big talk" is done. Mostly. I finally just had to post it because, as the Doctor says in the upcoming scene, "It's never going to be perfect." **

**Please excuse the prodigious use of the colloquialism "squishy." Much like "bonehead," it is evocative and appropriate for the situation at hand. And I hope you enjoy the suggestive ending! ;-)**

**Thank you very much for reading and for leaving such cerebral reviews! We writers live for stuff like that! Stay tuned for something new on the horizon in the near future...**

DAY FOUR: Part III (Epilogue)

The sun shined on Great Britain at three o'clock in the afternoon on Thursday, 9 July, 2009.

Almost everyone had come through the debacle intact, especially the Torchwood team, who almost lost their hub, and could have lost so much more, but for one very wise decision made early Monday afternoon. One little phone call to one clever doctor, and one single Time Lord with his team of pros – it had changed the game completely.

And not only were they closer than ever now, they had gained a medical advisor. Not bad for three days' work. And now, the children of Earth were safe, as was the rest of the planet.

Martha and the Doctor looked down on it from above, and admired their handiwork. They stood in the open doorway of the TARDIS, safely behind the airlock.

"Dusk is coming from the east," Martha mused, leaning against the Doctor and curling her arms around his middle. The beginnings of the shadow of night formed a long stripe over the place where Asia becomes Europe. "It's weird to be able to see it before they can. It's like seeing the future."

"Welcome to my world," muttered the Doctor, kissing the top of her head. Then he shut the TARDIS door.

She pulled away from him and walked up to the platform and sat down on the stool. She leaned back and crossed her arms and legs. "Do you want to start?" she asked.

"Okay. What do you want to hear first?"

"I want to know why you were such a wanker for most of yesterday," she said. "Then, I want to hear about the photo."

"Right. Wanker behaviour," he said, leaning against the console. He crossed his arms, and took a deep breath. "It was Dekker. I knew Dekker back when I was younger, though I looked older. It was my third body. I had white hair and wrinkles, hardly ever smiled. Like an older man, someone whom people sort of trusted, like I was their uncle. And, he knew Liz Shaw, who was very much like you, actually. She was a good friend to me, and great to have around in a pinch. She was a physicist. Sharp, just like you. Not as pretty, though."

"I've read about her," Martha said. "She was UNIT. Ran across her name when I was going through their files on you."

"That's right," the Doctor nodded. "There was also the Brigadier and a dozen other officers and scientists who backed me up sometimes. Dekker got used to seeing one kind of me deal with one kind of human. As long as I can remember, the people in my life have been ready to throw themselves to the lions if I asked them to, and Dekker understood that much.

"But regeneration is a funny thing, Martha. Dekker knew who I was. He _knew_ that I could regenerate, and that each time, I'm a different man. But knowing it intellectually doesn't always prepare a human for the shock of seeing me again after I've changed. He only knew me as a no-nonsense, white-haired grandfatherly sort, with a certain kind of human at my right hand. He saw me again, looking like I do now, acting like I do now, and the two people he saw at my right hand were you and Jack."

"I take it that we are a different kind of human than he was used to seeing you interact with."

"Yes, in many ways. Not the least of which was… well, how you feel about me. You and Jack, both."

"I see."

"At first, he was just winding me up about being 'pretty'," the Doctor said, using air quotes. "But yesterday morning when I went to give him the yellow switches, he really rang my bell. He told me to stop acting like a pop star, and then looked right at you, and implied that my crotch was making the decisions about whom to include in my inner circle, rather than my brain. I'll admit that looking at you, it's a fair assumption, and perhaps watching me superficially these days, one might come to the conclusion that I'm a man who thinks with his… not brain."

"I know that's not true," she assured him.

"I'm glad you know that. My brain brought you into my life because you're brilliant. My other parts caught up later, because you're… well, you know."

"Go on," she encouraged, smiling.

"Then he said that he understood that being _me _has always been something of a liability, that people do anything I ask, sacrifice themselves, take crazy leaps of faith for me. But being a version of me whom the people on the front lines want to _shag…_"

"Different kettle of fish."

The Doctor nodded. "He said he didn't want the fate of the world to lie in someone's groin. He wondered if it came down to it, between me and the planet, whom would you save? Would you sacrifice the human race to stay in my good graces, or to keep me from harm? And then, I started to wonder myself."

She groaned. "Doctor…" she began, then trailed off. "I love you. I always have. From that first night in the alley, and at every moment between then and now. But I left you in the hands of the Master to save the planet, and I'd do it again. You were weak and incapacitated, in the power of a megalomaniac who relished in your suffering, and I wanted nothing more than to stay with you, protect you, make sure that he couldn't hurt you again. But I didn't. I went out and talked to people, walked across the world and spread the message that you asked me to spread. Do you know what gave me the strength to do that?"

"What?"

She rolled her eyes. "For a full year, I told everyone I talked to what you've done for us, your history with the Master, how many times you've saved me, saved them, shown compassion to your enemies. I did that over and over and over again, and it saved the world. And I couldn't have done that if I only sort of liked you, and thought you were an okay bloke. I'd have lost steam long before. I adore you, and that's what helped me go on. And not just then. Always."

He smiled. He paused. "Jack says loving me gives him fire, something to fight with."

"Yes!" Martha agreed.

"I tried to tell Dekker that, but I was daft enough to talk myself out of it."

"You let an emotionless drone tell you how love affects us? Doctor, really."

He said, smiling at her, "Well, you proved him wrong yesterday. I asked you to disengage the transmission, and you wouldn't do it, because you knew I'd gone off my nut for a few minutes. The planet was more important, so you did what was right. Too bad Dekker was already gone, and didn't have a chance to see."

"Bloody Dekker," she said. "Sorry, I know it's not nice to speak ill of the dead, but he did a lot of damage."

"I know. I thought that by being standoffish and having less contact with you…"

"You could make me hate you, and therefore not sacrifice my species?"

"Well, it sounds daft when you put it that way!"

"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" she asked him pointedly, kicking him playfully in the knee.

A long pause again. "For what it's worth, Martha, when we first landed in Japan and you tried to talk to me, it was killing me to brush you off like I did. You wanted to tell me about the concentration camps, and you were scared about the kids, and Tom had been talking to you… I so wish we could have worked things out _then_."

"Little did we know that Dekker had got in your head, and Tom had got in mine. I guess we were both a little bit brain-addled."

"What exactly did he say to you?" he asked.

"He was sneaky," she said. "He played innocent. He said that it was hard being the jilted party, seeing you and me together, and he was sure that Rose would say the same."

"Oh?"

"That she must be so sad that you chose me instead of her, knowing that you're over her. What must she have done to make you not want her anymore… stuff like that. Just putting doubts in my head, planting the seed of paranoia," she said, staring at the floor, barely moving her lips.

"Well," he said. "Let me help. Talk to me."

"I just…" she wound up. Then she lost her nerve. She took a deep breath and tried again. "I just wonder, knowing the circumstances as they were, as they are, knowing how you and Rose parted company… if you had your way, wouldn't you be with her?"

He didn't answer for a long time. They were some of the longest moments of Martha's life.

"I mean, I know that you only gave her up because you had to," she continued, to fill the painful silence. "I know she didn't do anything to fall out of your favour, and I also know that you didn't line the two of us up together and go, 'I choose Martha!' So it just makes me a little paranoid. I believe that you want me, but… don't you want her more?"

"No," he answered. Flatly, certainly, at last.

"Okay," she said, exhaling heavily. "Why not?"

He sighed and looked at the ceiling.

"My ninth incarnation was born in battle, Martha, did you know that?"

"Ninth?"

"The one before this one."

"No, I didn't know that."

"It's true. My eighth body died in the Time War, and I woke up as a new man in the middle of the fight. The war ended, and I was…" he exhaled hard. "…a seriously damaged man. I did my thing for a while, talking to people here and there, but mostly keeping to myself because I thought the universe was an awful place. One girl – _one, _in all that time – gave me what I needed to recover. And yeah, sure, there were other great people in the world but… there was something about that one. I gave her a second look. Still can't quite say why."

"No accounting for chemistry," Martha said, chuckling.

"Indeed not. I found that she was innocent to my battle-weariness, saved my life even though I didn't want to be saved. She was intelligent and simple all at once, and she restored the wonder to what I do. But she was also forceful. She didn't let me go off the rails and destroy things in my anger. She didn't take any guff from me when I tried to push her away. She wouldn't let me let things go. By the time that body died, she'd been with me over a year… and have I ever told you how I died the last time?"

"No, you haven't. I've always wondered."

"It was her and me and Jack, and it's a long story… but she absorbed some energy that she shouldn't. It's the same energy that's keeping Jack alive almost indefinitely, and Rose had it at a million times that concentration."

"Whoa."

"And at that level, it doesn't keep you alive so much as it melts your insides and eventually turns you to ash. So, I took it away from her. It went into me, and killed me. When I regenerated, I looked like…" he pointed to his face.

Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Martha waited; the Doctor walked slowly round the console once as he spoke.

"I always thought it was an appropriate ending for that body. Rose had saved me from myself, and then I saved her. Like we were both _finished._ She'd completed her work on me. I was ready to go, and I let her know by dying for I was reborn as someone new and healed. So, this is my tenth body. I'm a different kind of man, and…"

He took his place once more, arms crossed at the console.

"You can probably see why… I've long felt that this is the body and soul that Rose created."

"Wow," Martha said. She blinked a few times and surprised herself. "That's actually kind of beautiful. I never thought I'd say that."

"I knew I loved her as soon as I woke up and saw her face," the Doctor said. It was hard for him to look Martha in the eye as he said it.

"I guess I can see that," she admitted, gulping.

He inhaled sharply. "But as time went on, living with me and my softer personality…"

"And prettier face?"

"Perhaps… she went all squishy on me. And I went squishy too. And we became like that icky teenaged couple you see at the cinema. We travelled, and did what we do, but the purposefulness had gone out of our relationship, and I was too busy being pleased with myself to see it. Then I lost her. And oh… it was a _hideous_ way to lose someone, and it made me blind with grief for a while."

Martha nodded.

"Blind with grief… then I met you."

"Yes. Bad combo."

"Very bad. Aas you know, for most of the time when I was with you, I thought I still needed Rose."

"I seem to recall getting that vibe from you, yeah."

He appeared to be thinking. Then, "But you know what? That year that I spent in the Bat Cave with the Master, while you were out saving the human race, I thought about this a lot. You and I _worked _because I no longer needed someone who was innocent and could restore my faith, made me want to be alive, and all that stuff. I already had that – I was a different guy. What I needed was someone who could keep up with me, be at my side, _help_ me do the things I do, and _not_ be all squishy. Even if you wanted to be, you didn't get squishy, ever. And I realised that the purpose had been restored! I found a real impetus with you, like I could run again, not just slide from one situation into the next with a security blanket at my side. You were perfect for the 'new' me."

She flushed all over, knowing what was next.

"But then I sort of lost you too," he said.

"Why didn't you tell me all this at that time? I could have stayed!"

"You wouldn't have. You left me for a totally different reason than the one that would have compelled me to ask you to stay. You loved me, and I wasn't ready to return the favour. But that began to change as soon as I saw you with that ring on your finger."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. Blimey, did I get jealous. And it surprised the hell out of me."

"I thought I saw that… managed to convince myself it was all in my head, as usual."

"No, what you saw was real."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't think it would be fair to put that on you. It would have put you in a terrible position, and I reckoned I'd had my chance. I invited you to stay with me and Donna, but you said you'd rather go back to Tom, so… besides, I barged in to stop one companion's wedding already, and I try to limit myself to one per summer," he said, smirking.

"Oh, my God. I can't believe this." Martha thought back to the time when she knew the Doctor was out there, travelling with Donna. She'd been transferred to New York with UNIT, then got wrapped up in the Dalek debacle. "And all that time…" she mused.

"Yeah. Mind you, it was just a seedling then," he said. "My feelings for you."

"And then Rose came back."

"Yep. And she was a little more world-weary, but she was the same old Rose. She ran at me with a big smile and open arms, and she went to her knees and cried when she saw Jack killed, and she looked at me with that old adoration in her eyes… the innocence and squishiness, they were back. They were qualities which I didn't need, which didn't help, but having her back was such a coup, I didn't even notice. I just knew that I loved her. Maybe…" he stopped, caught himself.

"It's okay," she said, smiling sympathetically. "You can say you still might."

"Maybe, maybe. But I think that, even by then, I'd grown to love the _idea_ of Rose, more than the actual Rose," he said. "Ugh, it feels wrong just to say that. But it's the truth. It's like when you only want something 'cause you can't have it."

"Sorry, Doctor."

"And it's important that you know: I didn't just give her up as a gift to her, and my twin. My first glimpse of him was hauling out of the TARDIS with a device in his hand that would cause the reality bomb to backfire and destroy the Daleks," the Doctor explained. "It was the sort of thing I would have done in my ninth body, the sort of urge that had left me after regeneration. But that twin, he was born in battle just like the ninth Doctor, and he was dangerous."

"You knew that Rose could fix him."

He nodded. He thought about his words, and then he said, "Rose Tyler is the perfect companion for an angry, damaged Doctor. She's got every quality that someone who's sick of the world needs. Bright eyes, curiosity, pluck. And the adoring gaze doesn't hurt either."

"And he loves her," Martha said, quavering a bit.

"God, I hope so. An angry damaged Doctor ought to. But I'm not an angry, damaged Doctor anymore."

"Aren't you?"

"No," he whispered. He took her hands. "I'm really not. And that's why: no, if I had my way, I would not be with her. I would be with you. Not squishy… and not particularly innocent, as it turns out. Just beautiful, beautiful Martha. A companion. Someone to love."

She searched his eyes, and squeezed his hands tighter. "You do love me."

"I do," he comfirmed. "I really do. And I can feel that we fit."

Tears began to flow. "I can feel that too," she agreed. "Just promise me you'll tell me when you have doubts. If she's on your mind, talk to me. You know I'll know anyway, it'll just make me less crazy if you're honest about it."

"You've got it."

"And tell me if you're feeling squishy," she said. "I don't want us to be useless together."

He smiled. "You couldn't be useless even if you tried. You couldn't even take a proper holiday."

"Well, that was hardly my fault," she said.

He paused, and took a nice long breath. "Martha, it's never going to be perfect…"

"I don't care. I'll live with imperfect, but I won't live without you. Not anymore," she said.

He kissed her hands. Then, he took the photo of him and Rose from his pocket, and handed it to Martha. "This was in here," he said, showing her the cup holder, just below the main display screen. "Rose made me install it, just before she was lost, so she could have her tea in the console room, and not have it splash everywhere. She never used it, though, and I never did either. Yesterday when I was knocking about in here with Jack, I saw it sticking out. That was the first I'd seen of it since it was taken, and certainly the first time I'd seen the inscription on the back. It was sticking out because someone had removed it from the slot, and not put it back in properly."

"I see," Martha said.

"We found Tom's key ring, reckoned it must have been him who was messing with the photo," the Doctor said. "That's when I started to understand what you must be thinking, and how much trouble we could be in."

She nodded, wiping some tears away. "We still could be."

"Maybe," said the Doctor. "But that's the chance we take. Love is hard, but the hard is what makes it great. If it was easy and everyone got it right, the reward wouldn't be as big or as brilliant. It's when we get through all the rubbish and still love each other for it in the end, that's when we know we've arrived."

"It's been three days," said Martha. "I hardly think we've lived through all the rubbish we're going to."

"No, but… you know what? We've really had our share for a while. To do this much soul-searching in the first three days of our relationship is a lot to ask. I think it should be a good long while before we have to go through anything like this again. Statistically speaking, I mean."

"Statistically speaking?"

"Yeah, it's all got to even out, doesn't it? Studies have shown it," he said, very earnestly joking. Martha found it cute. "So I say… let's give you your honeymoon."

She smiled. "Okay." She hopped off the stool and took one last glance at the photo in her hand. She smiled at it, then replaced it in the cup holder where it had rested until yesterday.

"Whereto?" he asked her. "You're the guest of honour."

"Omadullah 9," she said. "And you're going to take me to dinner at the Crystal Scarlet Lake."

He felt a rush of heat come over him. "Your wish is my command."

"And this time we're going to do it right," she insisted, tilting an eyebrow at him. "You'll not be getting away with feeding me shellfish and then retiring to your own room alone at the end of the night, mister."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Go climb into your tux."

"Yes, ma'am," he joked. "And you'll be wearing…?"

"A purple dress, of course," she said. She moved in very close and whispered, "Black lace underneath, and not much of it."


End file.
